Keeper's Saga: The Black Flame
by Eristarisis
Summary: I only ever wanted to go home. I didn't start out wanting to do what I did. I sold most of my soul, and kept some humanity. Now I don't know why I bothered, or cared or tried. Arise my warriors! We conquer this world or die. Blood and Skulls! For Kharnax!
1. Chapter 1: Confessions

**A/N**

**A re-up of a very, very old fanfiction that I wrote several years ago. Unfortunately, I lost the originals which had all of the relevant authors notes and citations. There are references to movies, books, games, pop culture all the way through and I have no idea what they are, or more specifically what they are. And I'm not going to back through it all to find them all.**

**My Beta did recommend some extensive rewriting in areas, but I disagree with her on that point: I'm not the same guy now, as I was when I wrote it. So if I start rewriting, the style, language etc won't match up which will essentially ruin the flow of the whole thing - and I'm not going to rewrite the whole thing either. **

**On a separate note: Thanks to my beta reader, Nachtrae for doing her usual fantastic job in going through all 24 chapters of this fanfiction. **

**Chapter 1: Prologue:**

**Confessions of a Dungeon Keeper**

I know I can't see you, but I know you're there. I know because you're sitting in front of your computer screen at home, in a cybercafé or perhaps even in your office, and you're in the process of reading my words. You are about to get the whole story about where I have spent the past seven or eight years of my life, fighting a war, fighting a campaign that has lead to the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of warriors.

Adolf Hitler? In my opinion he is a little school boy whose sulking because he didn't make the cut for his school's football team. I'm not proud of what I've done, or more importantly, what I had to become to ensure that I could actually come home. I killed, tortured and massacred my way through quite a few sovereign nations. The smallest of those nations was "Eversmile" before I conquered it and renamed it "Brauna Hauk," and that nation was about the size of Belgium. The largest of these nations, is arguably the size of France. The warriors numbered in the thousands. The civilians, number in the millions. Hitler killed seven. Stalin killed ten. I killed over fifteen million non-combatants – women and children – and I didn't blink while doing it.

I know what I was at the outset. It was easy to say that I was human. I now know what I became: A Demon Price. Moreover, I will not apologize for my actions because I'd didn't feel guilty for them then. I won't start feeling guilty for it now. I did what I did because of who I had become. I was Cameron Hunter. However, when things got taken to the "next level" due to a freak lightning storm that sent about fifty million volts of electricity through my computer, and in to me, I should have vaporized on the spot. If that had happened, the world would probably be better for it. Which world you ask? The one I went to or this one? I'd say it would have been better for both.

All I ever wanted was to come home. I had left somebody behind, and she had been in the room with me that fateful day. I had not wanted to leave her, but I didn't have a choice. My girlfriend was in the room with me that day, I've returned and well, she's gone. I'm all I have left. Maybe I should have stayed. I don't know. I doubt I ever will. It's true, that this is the last chapter that I will write for my epic tale, and it's funny that I'm writing the first chapter last. Well at least I am finding it funny… but since I got back, quite a long time ago, almost six years ago, I'm finding a lot of unfunny, serious things to be just that: Funny.

However, if you're still reading this at this point, and you still want to hear the rest of my story, then read on. But know that the person, the face and mind that saw these events, and partook in more than one bloody massacre, that ordered death, destruction, chaos and mayhem to be spread throughout lands of peace and harmony is no longer. Cameron Hunter is dead, lost beneath the dark tide that took him over, that he willingly embraced, never knowing that there would be no escaping its tainting touch for all eternity, even after he returned to a "home" that now, holds no meaning to me. The weapon that slew countless millions is here with me, a part of me and it hungers for warm blood to drench it. However, I'll fill you in on that later.

My name is Firestorm, Keeper Firestorm to the masses, the rank and file and rabble that I command through the powers of the Keeper and The Keeper's Law, Overlord of an impressive empire that I conquered so that I can rule it, when my time comes again, with absolute and unending power. I am back in what one would call my home world. I am getting somewhat side tracked from my story. You have a fragment, from the beginning of it, so I will dispense with further pomp and ceremony – you are still reading aren't you? No doubt, some of you are asking why I am revealing this. Read on, and you will learn the answer, but I doubt that you'll like it.

My story begins, on a warm - well relatively warm - summer afternoon in Hong Kong. I don't recall the exact time, but I do recall the exact date – 23rd of July 1996. Sometime in the late morning or early afternoon, and I was on my last summer vacation – last on account of what happened next – playing Dungeon Keeper on my desktop computer. I didn't know it then, but I know it now. The damned thing did not have sufficient surge protection against lighting strikes; otherwise, none of this would have happened. I still remember that I had just started a new game and that's when it happened.

Some time in the early afternoon, with it being typhoon season in Hong Kong, with the wind howling around the apartment blocks, the rain lashing at the windows. My two cats were cowering underneath my bed as if they were trying desperately to somehow evade the fury of the storm. My girlfriend was reading a book on my bed in the opposite corner of the room. Should I have been a little more careful? When that lightning bolt struck the top of the apartment building, I think that the entire bolt of lightning took less than a second to travel from the 23rd floor all the way down to the 13th floor – my lucky number – and for some reason, made a beeline through the wiring. The ground wires must have been broken or something because instead of hitting the ground it surged in to Apartment 13D of World Wide Garden Apartment in Tai Wai, Hong Kong, China and in to my desktop computer, and me.

I don't remember a lot of what happened at that point except that a blinding flash of light sent fires racing through every nerve, muscle, fiber and cell in my body. The pain was unlike anything that I had ever experienced and I understood in those moments, or seconds however long it actually lasted, what the Cruciatus curse from those Harry Potter books would feel like. That brief span of torment was long enough, for me to see the blue fires of hell, my left hand in spasms upon the keyboard, my right with a death grip upon the mouse that either exploded, or crushed in my bone shattering death grip. I felt more than saw another crack of lightning, but I know I heard the roar of spectral thunder and I saw, at least I think I saw, the screen of the computer explode sending slivers of glass, metal, silicon chips and copper wire towards me like a shrapnel grenade.

It was the last thing that I saw or remembered before darkness claimed me.

After a tormenting hell like that, I really did think I was dead and in some form of stasis or purgatory when I woke up. Everything was black and dark around me, the kind of mind numbing darkness where you hold your hand in front of your face, touch your own face with your hands and you still can't see your own fingers. It was the perfect darkness where no light exists. I couldn't see the floor that I my back rested comfortably on, I could not see the walls of the prison in which I lay, nor could I tell just how far above my head the ceiling would be.

Never mind the fact that everything was pitch black, but I figured that I would be wearing rags instead of proper clothes considering that I should have been permanently carbonized as a result of the lightning that engulfed me. I still had all of my clothes, intact, and I instinctively reached into the pocket of my cargo pants and found them there, in the left leg pocket where they should be: My cigarettes and a lighter. Small luxuries, as I sparked my lighter… the Zippo proved to provide a small and very pathetic pool of light that did nothing to illuminate my surroundings. But I managed to light a cigarette, and had to admit that the burning of the nicotine in my lungs before that familiar tingling sensation spread out to my fingers and toes let me know that, at least, I was still alive – either that or God had a sick sense of humor. Admittedly, I had to ask what would be a relatively stupid question out loud, "What the fuck would it take to get some light around here?"

When the lights snapped on suddenly, I went blind and with the grace of a one-leg ballerina, crashed to the floor. Having been in such a midnight dark chamber had left me completely blind for a few moments, even though I could tell that the light was coming from old-fashioned torches in brackets mounted to the walls of a seven-foot wide corridor. At least with a corridor I now had a destination to walk towards, although I was more than a little flash blinded as I staggered my way down that corridor, leaning against the wall as my eyes adjusted to the white light coming from the chamber. I found myself studying the brickwork around me as I walked, the bright red brick walls, and solid stone ceiling overhead – almost anywhere between twenty and thirty feet above my still throbbing head – made one thing, if nothing else, clear to me: I was underground. Things could have turned out differently and I would not have wound up with so much blood upon my hands. However, that's perfect twenty-twenty hindsight talking. I didn't have that benefit at the time. I walked through the door, and found myself staring up at a large light emanating crystal.

I felt even more than a little confused as to what the fuck that was, never mind the little creatures that seemed to be wandering around in circles with a ridiculously oversized pickaxe over one shoulder and a large bag strung to their back. They paused for a moment to look at me, as if I was the latest oddity to pass their way before they continued their never ending circling of the chamber.

"I have been a stranger in a strange land, but not a strange in a land such as this." Gurney Halleck said that in the book "Dune" by Frank Herbert. Given my predicament, I thought it was fitting. I speak and understand more languages than most and gave up after trying English, Bahasa Malaysia, and Mandarin and, in outright desperation, my abominable French to communicate with the little circling creatures. It was at this point that it clicked to me that I was no longer on Planet Earth anymore.

I stared at the large crystal, and I could feel it oozing a raw, almost elemental power that fucked with my mind in a half begging, half pleading and half sexually suggestive tones to come forward and to touch, to caress and feel that power that could be mine if I had the strength to tame it. I never said that I was the most strong willed of people and the lure of power was enough to make me forget for a moment who and, more importantly, where I was. I reached out with one hand.

It was as magnificent as it was beautiful… beautiful to the point of hypnotic and to the point that the sight of it was captivating even as I shielded my eyes from its glow with my one free hand. My other outstretched towards it. The light itself was strange to feel against my skin with its mix of warm and cold, almost as if it possessed a physical strength as it engulfed my hand and pulled me, until I was suddenly in physical contact with the core that was emanating this light. In that moment that I felt something ripple the air around me as something shifted and changed around and within me.

With the suddenness of a damned river breaking free of its restraint, knowledge poured in to my mind, room schematics, layouts and plans. Details of dozens of different creatures and minions ranging from those that would serve me such as Trolls, Bile Demons to my enemies like Rouges, Dwarves, Lords of the Land, and an Avatar. I tried to break my connection to that core but my muscles locked, overridden by something more primal and powerful that I somehow _wanted _to be.

I felt more powerful, physically, blessed with knowledge that had poured in to me as if I was watching a movie in fast forward, while still understanding all the dialogue, the sound effects, the movements, the plot everything in the space of seconds. It was over as suddenly as it had begun and I cracked my skull against the stone floor for a second time in as many minutes. I thought for a moment that the throbbing that I was hearing was the sound of my heart beating in my head. However, after a few moments, I realized that the source of the heartbeat was actually the pounding, the pulse of life, of my Dungeon Heart that pulsed as I lay in its, now warm, almost comforting glow, like having someone who loves you hold you, and give you anything and everything for you.

I looked around, and felt, somehow, as if I had come home. I stared at it, and the name of the light source, of this feeling of power. It came to me, and it surprised me. I knew it, but I didn't want to believe it was a Dungeon Heart. I was standing next to a Dungeon Heart. So that meant that, by touching it, I was a minion of a Keeper. I looked down and saw that my clothes had a red, fire like tinge that seemed to glow. It was as if the flame, or whatever it was, inhabited my clothing and by extension, me. Then something else occurred to me. What the little brown and black things with big bug like eyes had said to me, "What are your orders, Keeper?"

How could I be a Keeper, if I had communed with the Dungeon Heart? That is when it clicked. I had communed with a Dungeon Heart and I had not taken its color, nor had it taken mine. I looked at the Heart and focused upon the image that I had in my mind: a black pouncing jaguar with golden flames licking at its paws. I was fashioning in my mind the emblem that would decorate my territory, my warriors and my battle standard. The image firmly built in my mind, I slammed both hands, palm first, onto the Dungeon Heart, simply because it seemed to be the right thing to do. Those little creatures, "Imps," my mind whispered to me, their name and their purpose within my domain, suddenly stopped their movement and squealed, high pitched sounds of pain as I saw the symbol burn itself in to their shoulders, the smell of burnt hair and flesh in the air. I felt the burn as well, upon my own shoulders, filling the air with that sickly sweet smell of crisped flesh.

Truthfully, that did not hurt as much as having nearly been zap-fried like a pop tart. However, I knew what I was at this point, and it gave me a moment's pause: I am a Dungeon Keeper, and my new knowledge highlights something of importance: I am an unaligned Keeper. I do not have the strengths and blessings of any of Dark God such as Enkasmine – Count of Deception and Lies, or Kharnax, The War of God and Bloodshed, or Jungald, the Dark Arch-Mage of the Burning Legion, or any other Dark God. None of their blessings and strengths but also unbound to their perverse wills and desires. I had the power to act without conscience, and hesitation, to rise from nothingness to greatness, and to tear asunder all who dare oppose me… but I managed to reign in those instincts.

I closed my eyes and just as the encyclopedia in my mind told me, I could see a map of some form, of everything around me for miles in all directions, and I knew what to do in the dark beneath the surface. Build my dungeon, construct my army, and crush, kill and destroy all who stand against me. Even as I turned to my Imps, giving them their orders, I did not waste my breath, I just screamed telepathically. The Imps are bound me in life and in death, and death is something that every Imp hopes to avoid, "Get to WORK!"

I still did not understand, back then where I was or what I needed to do beyond doing what your average Keeper does. I started with the obvious of securing a solid base of operations was the most important thing that I could do for the moment. Then I would need to meet the natives to gain the answers I needed and most importantly, learn how exactly I was going to get home.

It's funny now when I think back to those early times, when I was first starting out as Keeper with the most basic of Dungeons, that I had a severe disadvantage in having a corporeal form. Being able to brawl with fists and feet would be of little value against the swords and spells that I would face, or against the raw brute strength of Giants, Ogres and Bile Demons. I guess I was smart enough to realize that any of my own minions that had the idea of becoming Keeper would be able to beat the crap out of me. Something that I would have to address when I got the time and believe me, I did address it when the time came.

For the moment, I was more than content to play around with my powers to get a solid feel for them. I found that if I focused my mind, I could get some kind of bird eye view and I used this, passing what I could see to my imps, instructing them to begin digging out the rock walls in to caverns that I would convert into rooms for my future minions to use. It took my imps several hours to complete their work, including tunneling towards one of the portals that exist beneath the ground. I could get the same view from within the Dungeon Heart.

The walls surrounding the portal crumbled and took upon themselves the Jaguar emblem with its stylized flames of black and silver. The Black Flame had arrived in this land, and it made me smile. I turned to my imps and nodded to them as they, with my assistance, began to manifest a Lair, Hatchery and a Training Room, drawing on the magical energy of the world around us. The established treasury had accumulated a fair amount of resources to finance operations. However, with all this power came an intense loneliness. I didn't want humans I could rule. I wanted… friends… equals…. Many would see it as such an odd thing for a Keeper to desire. I figured it was. However, there was not much that I could do about that yet as I looked down upon my minions, who had joined me, having heard the lure of the portal that lead to my domain.

My minions in those early days where as well trained as I was. I trained with them. Together we dodged training dummies with their maces or their chain whips, striking at critical points with pinpoint application of magic and I was quickly becoming proficient with my ability to wield magic. However, I had only the most basic of combat spells at my disposal. The more advanced spells would take time to master, I would need the assistance of first Warlocks, and then Vampires and Dark Mistresses, but that would come later. I had mastered numerous basic spells in the few weeks that I had been here. My minions and I constituted a fighting force of fifteen warriors, not counting the half dozen Imps of course. The only problem with my warriors is that none would score highly on an intelligence test, as they could not understand my questions to them. Giant Flies and their equally large counterparts, Giant Beetles, do not understand much apart from the basic needs of food, shelter and kill anything that does not bear the mark of the Black Flame.

It was when we were expanding the boundaries of my dungeon did we find the first sign of what was to come: War. I thought another Keeper was lurking around, just beyond the boundaries of my domain. "Heroes," was my first thought having seen the passages and tunnels myself and if they were human – well, human after a fashion – and hopefully, they would help me, even if I had to persuade them using not so gentle means, namely torture to get home. It was time to bait a trap and catch some heroes, and hopefully get some information about them, namely, where the heck they were from, just where in all the nine planes of hell 'this place was and see if they could help me get home. I had to catch them. I retreated to the Dungeon Heart, my home beneath the ground, to plan just how to capture a few heroes, even though trying to create a decent prison would be difficult.

7


	2. Chapter 2: War Plans and Battle Tactics

**Chapter 2:**

**War Plans and Battle Tactics**

Now I admit that once pulled into a world that actually existed outside of a computer and somehow become a Dungeon Keeper with an actual Dungeon and a small subterranean empire. I found that the same problem of not knowing why I was here and more specifically where "here" was. This was in spite of the encyclopedia in my hid that seemed to be password protected because I either didn't have the right patron deity of darkness to support my endeavors or more likely because I did not have the appropriate minions to unlock the right facility.

Even the least useful of the Gods would have the ability and the brainpower to grant me some of the more advanced facilities for my use…. Shame really. It seemed like it was going to take quiet a while for me to gather any information that could be of any use to help me get my home. I naively assumed at this point that the most important thing would be to get information that could somehow help me get my sorry butt home. I had no idea how wrong I was about that. Again, it is that "hindsight is perfect" thing cropping up to bite me in the ass.

It had been a relatively peaceful and productive week as I had built up a decent enough force of minions. The Dungeon was solidly designed with only one entrance in to the dungeon proper that cut through the Lair, where I always had, at the very least a couple of creatures recuperating. Dungeons do not really operate on any kind of normal clock or timetable. At any hour there are those who rest while others work, on and on, a never-ending cycle of life and for those who opposed, or rather tried to, oppose us, death.

My combat magic skills were improving and I had begun to add additional spells to my growing repertoire. The heroes that had come down here had paid for their arrogance as we had ambushed them twice and left no enemy standing. The maze of tunnels that I had built made ambushing these heroes relatively easy. In this land, they were overly relaxed and stupid, allowing my forces to use raw, brute strength and ferocity to shred the dozen or so Rouges and Dwarves and turn them fresh meat. My Giant Beetles and Flies had proven to be amazingly resilient to both axe and sword. Granted there were some injuries but nothing truly fatal. My Giant Flies had hunted those that had tried to run, either to suffer impaled upon the stingers at the end of their abdomen, or to be decapitated by their scythe like appendages.

Three days and this would be our third ambush. I had hoped that this time it would work out a little better than previous ambushes. Granted, they were successful, but left no survivors and I would like to have somebody left alive that I can question and extract information from this time. Our very first ambush, I had not participated in, as I had been more interested in observing just how bloody combat would get in this realm. When teeth and claws met blade and shield I should have known that it would be an extremely bloody affair and I was right as my fourteen minions had ripped thorough the pack of Dwarves in seconds, having encircled them and striking from the shadows.

Right now, two of my Giant Flies were sweeping through the maze, hunting for the third pack of heroes to butcher. The second ambush I had been a part of, but had not had sufficient control over my minions to get them to leave somebody alive. This time, I just hope that things would be different. I took a perverse delight as the Flies swung back, a mixed group of Dwarves and Rouges in hot pursuit. They arched over my head, zipping to the far end of the cavern even as the pack charged in and moved towards the center of the chamber. I nodded sagely and my Beetles surged forward from their hiding places amongst the shadow as they bowled over their prey even as my Flies turned and swooped in, springing the trap.

There were seven Dwarves supported by a pair of crafty, but not exactly intelligent, Rouges. Where the Dwarves had simply charged in to the fray, the Rouges had hung back and clung to the shadows and darkness, effectively landing blows upon the exposed back of several of my Beetles. However their paltry blades were no match for the chitin carapace that shrugged off their blows with ease, whether they were from a stabbing sword or a hacking axe. My Flies circled above and broke off to give chase to the pair of Rouges that had broken off and were desperately trying to slip away. They would not get far, for I can smell their fear…. My Giant Flies can taste it.

I admit that the first time I stepped in to battle there was a fair amount of nervousness and hesitation in my movement and actions. I am not the nicest person you will ever meet but there is still quite a long way to go from being a nasty piece of work to being an out right killer and murderer. It is a hard line to cross but once crossed, you wonder what made that line so hard to cross. I crossed that line between person and murderer repeatedly in the space of a few minutes. My hands burst in to flames, as I leapt forward from the shadows, casting a pyrotechnic spray of fire that ripped through armor with ease. One of the unfortunate dwarves exploding like an overripe tomato dropped from a second floor apartment.

It took only several short moments before only two Dwarves were standing and several more before Torrasque knocked one to the ground and ripped of a leg. Torrasque? Torrasque is a true giant amongst Giant Beetles. I could ride him around like a horse if I wanted to. Last time I saw him, he was almost eleven feet long and nearly five and a half feet wide at the widest across his back. It took a single swipe to send blood spraying everywhere, accompanied by the sound of him cracking open the bones of the severed leg for the fresh, hot marrow and I swear that he was savoring the taste of fresh meat. All of my current minions prefer fresh meat to hatchery chicken. Me? I still found- and find - myself stuck with a preference for meat that is not made of human or humanoid flesh. .

I used the powers innate to me as a Dungeon Keeper to me, but it still took me a few long seconds to give the correct order. I had lacked that control during the first ambush, but now I had much better control of it. It was my fault that nobody was left alive in the previous battle and just had them massacred. I looked over at the still mewling dwarf, minus his left leg. He was growing weaker and would no doubt be dead soon.

There was a sudden commotion behind me as the sole, relatively uninjured survivor had tried and failed to breakthrough the wall of fangs that wanted to eat him. They had held to my command and kept him encircled, knocking the wind out of him as he crashed in to the cold stone floor of my dungeon and, judging from the angle of his forearm, had every bone within that particular limb broken, leaving him in no condition to fight. However, the drool that was raining on to the flagstones beneath the jaws of my minion made it clear that my current crop of "employees" were hungry for fresh meat.

The last Dwarf managed to scramble to his feet, pressing himself against the wall as my minions closed in upon him, ensuring that he would not try anything stupid. There was fear, but now more pain written in his eyes. No surprise, considering the broken arm and the numerous bruises, cuts and slashes that decorated his body, along with a particularly nasty gash than ran diagonally down his face. The only problem left was that I only had several primitive, cruel and very usual methods of torture at my disposal.

However, it does help if you have several test subjects lined up since heroes tend to die rather quickly under primitive and crudely applied torture techniques. The arrival of my favorite Imp, Cepat, who carried a bag full of the various tools, tourniquets, bandages, potions and herbs that were normally carried by a Healer meant that that the one legged dwarf would live. Strange how good that Imp was with the healing arts. I found it ridiculous that I was suddenly trying to keep these two Dwarves alive so that I could torture and then execute them later on. The sheer ridicule of this situation was not lost on me as I cracked a smile. The things I do to get information. Their skulls would be offered to the Dark Gods soon enough. That was then. Things are rather different now. Neutrality really does suck, and Kharnax and I have an understanding of sorts.

My Imps had already carved a small chamber out of the rocky earth to keep these two alive, as having the pair mix with the general population would ensure a very short life span - About two minutes past dinner or (post) combat snack time. The two had relatively comfortable beds but they knew that they were prisoners, considering that I kept them on a very short leash that kept them pretty much tied to the bed. I did not want any unfortunate accidents to befall me even if those dwarves only had three arms and three legs between the two of them. It would be an embarrassing way to die.

I left them alone for a few hours, just to let their own minds drive them crazy. They would be thinking of the kind of things that I would do to them, of a nature that I am not even remotely possible of thinking of. Terror was written clearly into the features of the pair of bearded faces when I walked into that small chamber – as if the smell of sweat and soiled trousers failed to give that away. However, there was also something besides that fear in their eyes. I think it is what you would call the dull acceptance of their fate. If I had a Torture Chamber, I would have just thrown him in and let the Mistresses get on with in. I am guessing that the rack would be the most effective at stretching Dwarves until they break. Like all living creatures, there is a level of pain that would buy me answers, and a slightly higher level of pain that would buy allegiance and their permanent, undying loyalty

They stared up at me from the "beds" that they were strapped to as I very casually let the dagger spin and dance between my fingers as if it was nothing more than a pen. I nodded slightly, and stepped to the side, allowing Cepat to levitate a tray full of similar, sharp, pointed and innovative tools in to the room. I prayed that I did not actually have to use anything on that damned tray. I wanted to go home, and I wanted to go home with as little blood upon me as possible. Therefore, I supposed that one could start with relatively easy questions, to soften them up some, "Do either of you have names that I can pronounce?"

The one legged Dwarf turned his head away from me, staring at the wall. The other had far too much courage for his own good as he spat upon the floor, the glob of yellowish mucus striking the floor next to my one of my boots. It is interesting to note that, after everything that has happened, I have not had a change of wardrobe in that realm. For over a week without a shower and my skin was crawling. I recall making a note to consult that encyclopedia in my head for some advice and help with this particular problem.

I lowered the throwing dagger that had danced between my fingers and picked up a different one. The legless dwarf was definitely the most fearful of the pair. From the stench on the left side of the room, he had been the one to soil his pants. He had also been given nothing for the pain and infection, fever and delirium was beginning to set in. It would make it easier for me to make him fear me, which would in turn make him much easier for me to question.

The blade I wielded was more something called a Kinjadl, an Orc weapon that was not really used in combat situations but rather for ritual marking and scarring, which was a painful process to be sure. Its applications for torture would no doubt be rather amusing to the right people to watch, even though I would rather not do it myself, "For the last time you stubborn, pint sized midgets! Names! Or I'm going to be forced to get, "creative!'"

The threat had the reaction that I wanted, as one mumbled and the other simply glared at me. I took the blade and experimentally ran it along the skin of my finger. I stiffened and bit down on my lip, drawing blood – a few millimeters of contact and it felt like every nerve in my hand was enflamed, as if the flesh was burning, the bones turning to dust and ash – before I lifted the blade away. I was shaking slightly from those few seconds of exposure. I would hate to know what it would feel like to have this thing run along your forearm for several long seconds.

"I couldn't hear that, what was your name?" I asked nodding my head in his direction.

"Th-Thrall," he replied, his eyes watching every little movement I made with the Kinjadl, even as I edged closer to his chained and mute comrade, "and what would his name be?"

"I," he hesitated, as I lowered the blade, until its tip rested perhaps fifteen or twenty centimeters above the chest of his friend, "I…" I brought the blade closer and gave him the death head's grin that would belong on a miserable mass murdering bastard. I was not one yet, but soon enough I would become one of the aforementioned bastards. I still give that the one legged Dwarf credit as what he lacked in limbs, he made up for in courage, "I can't reveal…"

I had not wanted it to come to this but I'd not been given a choice in the matter, as I dropped the blade and let it make contact with his skin. The result of which proved to be enlightening to say the least. I will not say that the little man did not scream. Actually, he did not now that I think about it. He wailed, loud and long, as the blade cut a line into his chest, from his left shoulder diagonally across his body, the sound of acid eating through wood or stone filling the air with a quiet sizzling sound, as a thin trail of smoke rose from his body, carrying the scent of burning flesh. I only held the blade long enough to get the job done – its times like these that I wished I could cast a certain curse, just to simplify the process, even if there was the risk of driving the victim insane under its prolonged exposure. I'd have to look in to that, but before then, I had to get other matters sorted out.

I think that at this point, you are probably turning slightly green in front of your computer screen reading what I started with. In the future, I resolved to leave this process to Vampires and Dark Mistresses. I did after acquiring the proper facilities. Suffice to say that it was a long, tortuous and drawn out affair for those involved and even though I eventually got all of the information that I wanted, a part of me, a part of my soul, was lost forever. The process started when I began going to war against these heroes, who had sought to invade my domain. I had taken a step further along the dark path when I had killed, even though it was in defense. There was no getting away from that fact. I had killed several by harnessing raw magical energy and giving it a destructive purpose.

Now I stood back, the half-dead dwarf, now a mixture of scars and burns, watching him whimper feebly as my imps dropped him unceremoniously to the ground in my Hatchery… My minions do prefer live food, and admittedly, chicken day after day would drive anyone nuts. They did and do enjoy a variety of flavors over that bland chicken. My Imps returned shortly with the second dwarf. This one had spilled his guts and revealed every single piece of information that he had in his possession. I never even had to touch him, as what I did to his friend, that he could see, that he could hear at close range, was enough "persuasion" for him to cooperate.

I knew whom and what I faced. I also knew that there was no means for me to get home in this land, being one of the smaller and magically poor ones. I would have to move on, to expand and conquer to find my way home. He looked up at me, tears in his eyes as he was carried past me, managing to squeak out his question, "Where are you taking me?"

I gave him the same smile I had before, even as I telepathically summoned my minions to me, informing them that live dwarf was now on the menu, the "meat" available to my minions on a first come, first to be served basis, "To feed you." He looked a little relieved at that, that he was not going to be tortured or tormented in the coming moments… but I had never said whether I was going to give him food or make him food now did I?

Another step down the path and another fragment of my soul lost forever, as I turned away and made my way back to the Dungeon Heart. He actually believed me, as he reached down, and plucked up a chicken in his hand. I think he realized the double meaning of my words. I could not help but smile. A fitting end for a sacrifice to the Dark Gods, as my minions closed in from all sides. He screamed as they charged forward, and I caught just a glimpse of his flailing arms before they tore him apart, my Giant Flies dragging his upper body towards the rafters of my dungeon, even as my Giant Beetles began to fight over the remaining lower half of his still jerking body.

Plans for the immediate future unfolded in my mind, which included drawing in more warriors and expanding as necessary to accommodate them, so that I could crush the Lord of Eversmile, for when he decided to come down here and bring the fight to me. I do not know what motivated me to do that. I just did it. Something was going on, and I had no idea what that just was. When these Heroes come, and they would come very soon, I would have a variety of surprises ready for them so they could die and fertilize the top soil of my hatchery. These were dark thoughts for someone who still had a large chunk of humanity in him. However, I could feel it, and in a sense, see it dissipating. I was also beginning to care less and less about that.

6


	3. Chapter 3: Conquest

**Chapter 3:**

**Conquest.**

The Lord of the Land and his accompanying gang of heroes came much sooner than I had any reason to expect. It took them only three days after I had annihilated their third reconnaissance party, had they decided to come down here, to ensure that my head parted company with my shoulders. While I had no idea what their forces would consist off, I had reason to be confident that twenty Giant Beetles and half as many Giant Flies would be able to match the strength of this pestilent enemy. Not to mention that I had prepared a few surprises to aid in the extermination of these vermin.

Out of all the many powers that a Dungeon Keeper may gain or use, the power to possess my minions proved to be of undeniable value as I possessed one of the two Giant Fly sentries that had spotted the enemy while on a routine security patrol. It also gives one a unique insight as I could see first hand everything that my enemy was bringing to bear against me. Not as if they had sufficient forces to truly challenge. A perhaps twenty or so Dwarves back again by half as many Rouges. Man to man, I would say that we were both evenly matched, but in terms of skill, I am relatively convinced that my forces are far superior in terms of training and toughness to withstand their paltry swords and axes.

It took only a brief moment to sound an alert that had my warriors ready to enter the fray. I admit that as my finest are nothing more than beasts, I have ample reason to keep my warriors lean, and especially hungry. I don't grant them much in the way of access to the Hatchery. I know that for them, nothing tastes as good as a fresh kill, when you carve the flesh from the bones with your own claws. Fresh meat in the form of heroes was something that my warriors would definitely crave. And to them, nothing is fresher than meat that they "harvest" themselves.

My Giant Flies rallied to my orders, a storm of winged claws, even as my equally Giant Beetles stayed low in the shadowy nooks and carnies that had been carved in to this one specific cavern. The cavern had been carved specifically for the purpose of butchering every single hero in this land. The small nooks and crannies were carved in to the walls, behind the massive pillars that held up the twenty meter long cavern. I'd kept the torches in their wall brackets but let them burn low to throw pools of shadow that were perfect cover to hide my waiting storm, a perfect storm of death that waited my command to be unleashed.

My winged minions had a specific task in this defense. Separate and occupy the Lord of the Land so that the Giant Beetles and I can mop up the rest of them before I turn my attention to him. It will not help if he's involved in boosting the morale of the various other two legged weapon wielding pests. Not that there were than many of them to be concerned about. The finest that this Lord of the Land had to offer would crumbled before my warriors like a sand castle crumbles before a tidal wave.

I found that the worst part of combat turned out to be not the actually killing and butchering of my foes, but for me, it seems to be that the waiting tends to be the worst part. You get time to sit there and think and analyze what you are doing. About what will happen when that blade you hold or that spell you cast, punches through and actually kills someone or something. It's the thinking part that makes it difficult for me sometimes. But I do what I have got to do. Blood and bone, blade or magic, it is kill or be killed, and I intend to be the one that does the killing. It took the heroes long enough, even with several of the Giant Flies acting as bait to draw in these men in for their heroic demise, but when they finally charged in to the cavern, hell bent after a pair of Flies that hovered well out of their ridiculously short reach, I whispered my command, "Sylvanas: Attack."

I did not have to scream or shout my orders, I was gaining mastery over the various facets of life as a Dungeon Keeper: The psychic link that ties a minion to their Keeper ensures that all orders and clear and that there can be no misunderstanding. Well, with my current mainstay of warriors being oversized insects, they actually lack the intelligence to disobey an order. Considering that at higher levels of play, this form of warrior is at best a minimal damage dealer, kept around to justify its existence as a damage absorbing meat shield. They also do make useful sacrifices in a Temple, if you actually get to build one within your Dungeon.

It was an interesting contrast, as I seemed to notice for the first time the difference between the styles of combat of my two generic groups of warriors. The beast like Giant Beetles were actually well know for relying on their carapace to shrug off whatever blows were dealt, before they tear my foes apart with their massive, overdeveloped jaws. My Giant Flies however, prove to be the more "artful" relying more on grace, and agility to stab and weave their way through whatever opponents or opportunity presents itself. My flies bounded off the walls swarming around the dwarves as the rest, their wing like buzz saws launched themselves like thrown spears towards the Lord of the Land. Eager to bury their toxin loaded stingers in to the Lord of the Land.

A pair of Dwarves had collapsed, the deadly toxins manufactured by the internal chemistry of my Giant Flies, no doubt coursing through their bodies, and burning through their central nervous system. The gap in the line was enough for six of my Giant Flies to push through, to harass the Lord of the Land. With him forced in to a defensive engagement to avoid being impaled upon the needle like stingers or the scythe like forelimbs of my warriors, the Giant Beetles and I would have a much easier to, clearing away the Dwarves and Rouges.

It is interesting to watch, the pair of Dwarves that had been stung earlier, lay on the floor, their eyes searching around them frantically, for the toxins were just the first stage in what is a horrible death, for anyone. While the toxins do spread through whatever tissue they have been injected in to, the poison finds nerves and races along them, burning them up as it progresses until it finds the spinal column or the brain. Often it reaches the spinal column first causing the victim to drop like a stone from the paralytic effect, unable to scream in pain. The other little something that is injected in to these victims is the larvae of the Giant Flies. The larvae do not take long to hatch, and they proceed to feed upon the internal organs of their victims, before tearing their way through their flesh.

Unfortunately, most of the just matured larvae do not live very long after they emerge. Their wings take several minutes to harden before they are capable of flight. Suffice to say that being "born" in the middle of a chaotic battle filled with blades and spell fire is not conducive to a long lifespan. They were either cut down by the enemy who saw them as an easy kill, or in an unfortunate instance of friendly fire. The Lord of the Land was effectively dodging and ducking to save his scrawny neck, having forsaken even the breast pretense of an offense. I gave the second order of the engagement, and unleashed the hammer, to fall upon the anvil already in place, "Thicondrious: Advance!"

From crevices and shadow filled crevices, the Giant Beetles charged, lead by the leader of my pack of Giant Beetles. Thicondrious led the advancing pack as if he was the Tank Commander. Their momentum nigh unstoppable as they trampled down several of the marauding heroes that rained down blows in an exercise of futility. Their dark black and green chitin carapace absorbing the furious blows with ease as they gouged their way through the ranks of the enemy. An excellent demonstration of how powerful brute force can be.

Now that I think about it, I was the only magic user who went out there without a weapon in hand. That's because my abilities with magic, make _me_ a weapon. Standing at the far end of the cavern, enveloped by the shadows, I hurled the most basic of combat magic spells in to the fray. The ease and simplicity, and limited drain upon one's mana meant that it was easy to cast massive, successive volleys of fireballs that covered the advance of my Giant Beetles in to the fray. The collision between my forces and those of this Lord of the Land, caused the battle line to blur as I drew upon the magical energy of the void, the incantation in my mind clear as I whispered it, "Incendio."

Yet another ball of flame came in to being, levitating above my outstretched left hand as I flung it down the cavern, while I began the tricky –for me- process of dual casting with a different spell: Incendio Mortis. The spells took me a little longer than I would have liked, but it was enough that the spread of fireballs I had laid down were keeping the enemy off balance, for they could not see in to the shadows, who or what was casting spells at them. I gave the command to my minions and they responded beautifully as my Beetles suddenly hugged the ground as the Flies surged upwards towards the shadow shrouded ceiling. The heroes had a few moments of confusion before the cavern's shadows were burned away in a mix of red and orange shades of near blinding illumination that showed no mercy to those caught in its destructive path.

One warrior of light took several of my flaming missiles through the chest, crumpled to ground as his fresh burned, certainly dead. Two others were taken in the limbs and the extremities, as the burning fragments exploded against them, turning them in to molten, dripping human candles. They would die for certain as magic based fire cannot be doused by simply rolling on the ground or by rolling through water. The combination of spell work and raw brutality had butchered more than half the enemy. The accursed Lord of the Land still standing, the remaining warriors roared and waded back in to the fray, axes sweeping through the air, as their shields reflected or absorbed the streams of magic I had hurled in their general direction. Incendio Mortis is not the most accurate of spells that you can hurl at your foes.

Still cloaked in shadows, I drew the sword I had trained with, using it to deflect a pair of rebounded fireballs. I checked my forces, and found that it had been a relatively good exchange, five of my beast warriors for almost three times as many of the enemy. It seemed that there were a greater number of Dwarves than I had originally anticipated. But the tide of battle was turning, and it would rest upon the strength and courage of these heroes. It was certainly approaching the point of fallibility, simply due to attrition. While my foes possessed the superior numbers which they had been throwing at me, my warriors had nearly all been injured, but superior training had allowed them to stand up to many times their numerical superior opponents than linear arithmetic would have indicated. Most annoying of all was that the majority of my losses were amongst my Giant Files. But they stuck to their task, as they swerved around the Lord of the Land, keeping him from interfering in the battle, where My Beetles were grinding the last of the Dwarves in to the flagstones of the floor. It was time for me to add to the difficulties being faced by the Lord of the Land.

The spell is powerful and its mana cost was more than a little ruinous to my spell casting abilities for the remainder of this particular battle but I actually enjoyed the prospect of immolating this pest as I gathered the mana, harnessing it and gathering before launching the deadly projectile, channeling every iota of mana I had in to the spell. It's not called Draconis Incendio for nothing.

Having maintained an extremely tight control upon the casting of the spell, "Dragon's Flame," I achieved exactly what I wanted as it lanced outward, a pulsing line of fire that superheated the air, creating a near rolling beam of flame. The few Giant Flies still engaged with the Lord of the Land broke away, suddenly opening the Lord of the Land to the full brunt of the spell, as the wave hammered in to his armor, the sound of warping metal overshadowing that of the whirling melee around us all. The blast knocking him back, his two handed battle sword flying from his grasp, dust clouds masking him from view. I ended the spell as the full beam of flame rippled through the air, causing the surroundings to shimmer as a wave of dizziness slammed in to everyone. I leaned back against the wall, and managed to catch the barest glimpse of the Lord of the Land as he somersaulted through the air, to land face down upon the stone tiled floor. He would be out of the fight for a few minutes, enough time as I turned to survey the remaining dwarves, one being ripped in to several large chunks by the massive blade like tusks of my Giant Beetles.

Corpses littered the floor, and the smell from them is not something anyone should appreciate – but I had to admit that they did give my Dungeon that "lived-in" feel. The remaining Dwarves were encircled, and had no place to go. I don't have the facilities to house prisoners, or the facilities to interrogate them effectively either. Not that I need anyone else for interrogative purposes… the Lord of the Land is still coming around from the dizzying shot I dealt him, as I myself struggled to keep off the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me. I had been keeping my minions hungry for special occasions, and this was one of them. A special one course feast composed of the Lord of the Land.

The Lord of the Land looked like nothing he should, lying with his head against the cold unyielding stone, his once shiny armor now dented and splattered with blood, certain areas were ripped clean open, blood pouring through these rents that hid deeper wounds from view. His sword was soiled with blood, guts and the bile of several of my minions, notched in several places on the floor, just out of his reach. I looked down at him, as I trapped his blade between my boot and the ground, to stare in to his eyes through the slit in the helm. They were brown, almost a mud color, and I could see in to the soul of this man. And I could already see that in spite of the fact he now lay defenseless upon a mountain of slain comrades, he would not surrender to me, even as I gave him my terms, "You fought well, and with honor for your chosen master, but you fought for nothing, only delaying the inevitable. Your followers lie dead and butchered around you. Only you remain. Surrender your lands and I'll grant you death, but it will be a clean death," I paused, considering my words, "A warrior's death."

"I will never surrender to you! Foul demon from the depths of hell. Go back to that from which you came, for the Light will never falter before the Dark!" he spat the words at me, "You are the Keeper, of this Dungeon, and though you may take my Land and my life, there are many more who will resist you. The Lord of every land will resist you to their dying breath!" he roared as he leapt forward from where he lay, his hand suddenly reaching and wrapping around the hilt of his blade, sliding in latterly, the sudden jerk getting out from under my foot even as he rose with it, an upward slash that would have ended me, had I not reacted as I did.

Still relatively new to the ways of this world, I had no idea that I actually had the agility that I possessed, and demonstrated as I back flipped clear of his blow, that would have cut me in half, cleanly from crotch to crown. With hair nearly brushing the ceiling, clear of his blow, and found myself with my hair actually grazing the cavern ceiling. My own blade flashed up as I descended, blocking a lateral, crosswise swipe at me, "Hold," I whispered as my minions nearly charged down the standing defiant Lord.

He was weak and wounded. I would finish this myself. Even as I stood, my blade locked with his, I pushed him backwards, a hard shove that sent him skating back several feet, before he dug his feet and stopped, his blade raised warily as he observed me, waiting for me to make my move. I growled at him, even as my left arm jerked down, releasing the blade kept in a sheath against my forearm, the handle of the blade rested comfortably in my palm, even as I roared at him, "Come on you pathetic creature!"

His sword pulled back as he charged in, raising his sword high overhead gave voice to a wordless roar of challenge. I met his blade with mine yet again, but I gave ground, as he pressed what he assumed to be an advantage, in that I could not stand against his divine fury. I gave him that opening for our blades slide against each others, giving me the gap I sought, The shorter blade in my left hand flashed up, between our crossed blades, to punch deep in to his eye. I felt the passage of the blade as it struck the skull bone at the back of the eye, somewhere around the optic nerve. His grip slacked as he tried to jerk away from me. Not that it helped as I twisted the blade and sent it in to his brain. He screamed, a sound of pure pain as I broke free, my long sword still in my hand, its blade untarnished by his blood as I leapt up, unleashing a reverse snap kick that sent his metal clad form to the floor. He twitched, as if trying desperate to rise, but I know death throes when I see them.

The sickly sweet smell that seemed to have a physical force driving it permeated the air, the smell of freshly shed blood that seems to clog the pores and clothes with its coppery tint. No doubt that I will need a bath and a washing machine to get the stench out of my skin and clothes. Now if only I could find a washing machine…. I'm sure that a bath I could get from those living in the kingdom above – if any of them lived long enough to be of assistance. The land above was mine. I ordered my minions to head aboveground. The land above, Eversmile, needed a visit and the claim of its new owner, and I intended to stamp it the property of the Black Flame, and it would be a nice vacation spot for me and my minions after we were done redecorating it – I'd say that if we had not earned our vacation just yet, we were about to.

6


	4. Chapter 4: Domination and Expansion

**Chapter 4**

**Domination and Expansion**

It was not something that those with weak stomachs should watch. Come to think of it, nobody with a weak heart should suffer the misfortune to see. Unfortunately, when you walk the path of the Dungeon Keeper, the sight of your minions sweeping through and devastating an entire land is something that gives me a warm, almost happy feeling. Calling this place a "land" is something of an over statement as its more of a little backwater town, barring some outlying farms, a mill, blacksmith, fletchers, and the larger than average home made of volcanic stone that was once the seat of local power. We had left it as a crumbling ruin as we would leave most of this backwater station. The passage of my warriors was clearly marked by the trail of destruction that they had left behind them along with the butchered corpses of men, women and children. It had taken them only a matter of hours, as they had "cleansed" the land with the brutal speed of Ebola infested locusts.

In all honesty, the place was rather pathetic before my minions were done, and their passage obviously did little to improve the place, considering that it had been torn to the ground, with blood and corpse remnants scattered everywhere. The blood has leant a fresh color to the environment, as had the coppery smell of blood that wafted through the air. I took a deep breath and I know I would get used to the smell soon enough, although I'm happy to admit that my Dungeon does not smell like an overflowing graveyard.

But I did find it rather amusing when some of the locals had rushed out of their homes dropping on to their hands and knees as I approached, while my minions where half done destroying their homes and devouring their crops. They begged me to spare them, their lives, and their families. I would have ignored them saving for one man, who claimed that, him and others had recently made passage from the neighboring land of Cosyton, and had survived an encounter with a band of Warlocks, who were busy running from the hero brigade of that land comprised mostly of Rouges and Dwarves.

The lowest of the heroes and those most likely to skin you alive, and take all you money… is there really all that big a difference between what I do and what those so called "heroes," and "servants of the light?" My guess is that for ten percent of their plunder, their priests and fairies would be able to work out a "mutually beneficial" arrangement between the guilty and their gods and prophets. I considered the information even as the few paltry townsfolk continued to grovel before me, and I figured that I could afford to spare their lives and their property. A quick telepathic check told me everything that I needed to know, another hour, two at the most, and my minions would be finished steam rolling the entire populace and any resistance that they could hope to muster.

But Warlocks! I need them as much as I want them. The textbook encyclopedia in my mind opened to the relevant section as I absorbed all of the information that I could possibly need about them: Magic users and most of the unskilled will develop given time and a little patience. Have a love of arcane, and enjoy doing research in to numerous projects, the more challenging the better. I had the ultimate assignment for them: figure out a way for me to return home.

I left my minions behind me as I descended back in to the underworld, its darkness a comforting blanket – ironic to someone who originally lived in the light. I summoned my imps, calling four of them to me. I gave Thicondrious parting instructions that can be summed up as setting up the necessary defenses and to rule this land until I returned, including finishing up the necessary carnage so that I could begin the spell casting necessary to turn this land in to something habitable for my minions.

Needless to say, I had to elevate the intelligence of Thicondrius somewhat, just to make sure that my personal favorite Giant Beetle can handle the necessary and relevant tasks of running this land in my name. I don't deny that I didn't make him too intelligent, even as I trebled what he already possessed. He is still a Giant Beetle. He grinned as he gained the necessary knowledge about the promises I had made to the inhabitants of this place. Those little people I had promised I would not harm, and unlike other Dungeon Keepers, my word is my honor. Thicondrius on the other hand, had never given _his _word…

Almost two hours later, I reemerged from my dungeon. The entire land, every building and structure had been destroyed. But a large number of the people yet remained alive. It was not in my nature just yet to destroy any and all who crossed my path, but it was becoming second nature that all who dared, in any way, shape or form to challenge would die. The fortunate would die quick, painful deaths. The less fortune would wind up as the playthings, or "food" for my current crop of minions as I had a purpose in mind for these people.

The spells cast that day were some of the darkest of dark magic that had ever existed in their world: It was a series of spells that together, were described as "Rising Dark." The individual spells are few, but their combined effect proves to be terrifying for mortals and those of who serve the Light. No doubt you're wondering what exactly these spells are. And I had to admit that I was more than a little concerned about casting them because I'd never cast them before so with regard to their effects, all I can give you is the theoretical impact of Dark Sight, Blight Touch, Cleansing Flame, and Death's Coil. Don't argue with me about the names, because at the moment, it's the best translation that you will get of the language of Demons.

**Dark Sight:** It's actually a spell that was created by the forces of Light, to block the sun, replacing with the darkness of night and a full moon. The spell was designed to be used by lower rank Demon Hunters, who were searching for Vampires and Lycanthropes – you might know them better as Vampires and Werewolves. The details of how that spell is used to track and hunt Lycans are a long side story that I have no intention of getting in to. Go look it up in "Hunting Lycans for Dummies." Sorry… I get a little sarcastic a lot of the time. But anyway, you know the origins and what exactly that particular spell is supposed to do. Block out the sun's rays which are harmful to the skin of many creatures that serve the Dark Gods.

**Blight Touch:** A corrupted and twisted version of the Blessed Growth spell developed by Nature Mages and Druids. Its original purpose was to bless the land, infusing it with magical energy to enhance the growth of crops and the wellbeing of livestock. Needless to say, plants and animals need the sun to grow which is why this particular spell is only cast after Dark Sight has been cast. Blight Touch actually corrupts the land it is cast upon, subverting the life energy in to dark, not killing but tainting the magical energy latent in the land, poisoning any food bearing plants and polluting the water too. This makes the life of any good-two-shoes-light-inclined-wannabe-hero infinitely more difficult. The blighted ground also helps speed the regeneration and healing of any minion of Darkness that walks, rests or inhabits the defiled terrain. Needless to say, while it makes things more comfortable for all who serve me. It should not be understated that it is also a very useful as a deterrent to anyone who would seek to overthrow my power in this or any land that I claim as my own. Who would want acres of despoiled land anyway?

**Freeze Flame:** Now everybody knows that fire and the ability to use, create and employ fire is one of the key things that lead to the founding of human civilization, and it is still one of the keys to the success of almost any human or human-like civilization. Simply put, this curse prevents anyone without a tie to my Dungeon Heart the ability to create or maintain a fire. It's powerful magic and the only way to ensure that you can actually regain this blessing of civilization is by falling to your knees, and swearing loyalty and eternal service to the Black Flame. Once you receive the mark, burned in to your shoulder, can you create and sustain fire, to stay warm, cook your food, and boil water. The water is tainted because of the Blight Touch spell cast previously? True. But because you have sworn your allegiance and received the mark, the fire that these puny mortals then create is actually a _Cleansing Flame_.

**Damnation of the Mortal Soul:** The final spell in this quartet of chaos and destruction. While it is the most powerful of this array of spells, it is agreed, amongst those who serve the Light that it is the most corrupt use of magic that could ever exist. It works by basically locking every dark magic spell ever cast in to a state of permanent irreversibility for a limited duration of time. Effectively, the first three spells are locked in to place and cannot be lifted unless the one who cast the final spell is permanently killed without any hope of ever being resurrected. Or the spell simply wears off. It is said that it lasts between a year and five years. And can be recast as necessary.

The four spells that when cast in the correct sequence damned the Land of Eversmile in to Brauna Hauk and in to the service of the Dark. Sure, sure, these spells could be reversed but first you would have to kill me and sent me to hell, or back to it, depending on your interpretation of my situation. The spells, were cast, but only one of them was slightly different in its purpose, but it worked, and worked rather well. Freeze Flame means that these mortal swear their allegiance to _me._ I rule the Black Flame, and I serve no Darkness, and none of the Dark Gods, even though I do offer sacrifices in the form of blood and skulls to them. Just because I don't worship them, doesn't mean that I want to get on their bad side. My will is my own, and these people live because I allow them to. Let none forget who I am and what I will do to achieve my ultimate goal of returning home. The few humans left alive in this land, will thrive and prosper, if they are smart and know what needs to be done and do it right the first time. No second chances with me. My task here in this land is done. Cosyton, and Warlocks are close by…. I simply must go, and give a cold death filled greeting to the Lord ofCosyton and recruit those Warlocks in to my army.

Another day and another land to conquer for the campaign trail is a long one and Cosyton is a happy, sunshine filled place with joyous laughter and a great deal of happiness over nothing. And it would have remained exactly like that, had it not been for the arrival of myself, with a group of Imps in tow with the intension of spawning a Dungeon Heart before building a Dungeon, and then raising an army to conquer this realm. I arrived without fanfare or any grandstanding because the last thing I need is for the opposition to be aware of my arrival before I even arrive. It makes it relatively hard to get anything done when that happens.

If I had been able to keep to my original plans, Cosyton would have been nothing but a pit stop in my pursuit of the Warlocks that were getting farther away from me. Reports gathered by some of my scouting Giant Flies indicated that they would sweep South West to another Land. Sometimes, if there is a God up there, I mean a supreme being who watches over everyone and everything, including all those lesser gods of good and evil and the rest of them, I'd say he has an extremely aggravating sense of humor that he likes to use on me.

I had actually finished the laborious process of summoning a new Dungeon Heart, and my Imps had yet to even reinforce the earthen walls in to something a lot more secure when things started to go irritatingly wrong. Having come in to the land, only hours beforehand, I had not yet had the chance to even scan the surrounding terrain to get a feel for it, let alone try and find a portal to attract the necessary dark minions to build my army. My Imps had knocked down some of the earthen walls, expanding the space to create what would have become a Lair when the wall suddenly crumbled, and we found ourselves having dug in to a side passage of some form. And as I examined the shoddy work, with the floor tiles being left unclaimed as dirt and the low ceiling that my six foot tall frame could barely fit in to, I came to the conclusion. It was not a group of rats from New York City, but the work of Dwarven Miners. I had to confess that the work of Imps is far superior to that of these bastard heroes, but then my Imps knew the fury I would unleash upon them.

And Dwarven Miners can only mean that there are heroes, and at the very least, a dozen heroes close to where my Dungeon Heart has taken shape and spawned. Suffice to say that where I am located is not a good place to have the foundation of a Dungeon and my less than desirable location had lead to me experiencing my first and for the record, only case of blind panic. Regardless, I had a fair amount of experience with the Dungeon Keeper "business," and pushed forward with the construction and expansion of my Dungeon. I realized that the smart thing to have done in that particular situation would have been to withdraw and return in force with my minions from my previous land. I could have died if anybody had come knocking as the breach point turned in to the beginning of a massive Lair. Let any incoming heroes' brawl their way through my minions when they try to kick me out. Construction was moving a pace but I had some of my imps working on a special project that would be a default in any other dungeon I ever had constructed in the future: Lighting

All Dungeons have them but that is an assumption because I do need light to see. The torches mounted along the walls in brackets were spread a little too far apart for my personal taste. Ten to fifteen meters leaves large gaps that are pooled with shadow, making it difficult to see, and even more difficult to try and fight in such a place. For most of my future minions and warriors, it would not be difficult to find their way around using a mix of the five senses. And I have no problems due to the map in my head that shows me the present location of every creature. Even though the sun is something I have not seen in I don't know how long, I just could not get used to the lack of light underground. I don't think that I would ever get used to the darkness and gloom. I think that it is depressing enough to be underground with next to no hope of ever seeing or feeling the caress of the sun against my skin which would probably burn my skin like an acid. It's not that deadly to me, but I see no point in actually going out there and being hurt by it. At least in this realm, I would have no problems with those damned pools of shadow.

I have never really understood how the Imps actually "claim" territory for me. All I see them doing is a dancing a little jig that should actually leave them a little dizzy considering that they have to spend their time bouncing from one foot to the other, before a cloud of black smoke with silvery streaks engulfs them, and then they move on to the next tile of land that they intend to claim. It's a strange process to watch one Imp doing it, but its another when you see eight of them doing this little dance all at the same time. It reminded me of a bunch of people line dancing to that highly annoying and very repetitive "Hamster Song" - If I remember correctly it was called the Hamster Dance.

The earthen walls of my domain can actually be dug out with relative ease by anyone who has even the slightest of interests or motivations to do so. Hence Imps also spend their time reinforcing these walls, with brick, mortar and magic to seal them in to place, making them effectively indestructible to anything that touches them. I know that there has to be a way to by-pass such powerful defensive magic, but the question is how. It's not something that I plan to work on just yet, as quite simply, it's difficult for me to actually research anything without the Warlocks that are necessary for me to actually construct a Library for research, experimentation and development of numerous different spells and other projects

What was supposed to be a short stop over here, turned in to a longer stay and lead to the conquest of this land, simply because the Heroes simply could not leave me, and my dungeon alone. It seems that these people have it in their some what vacuous heads that anything that odes not walk talk and act like they do is automatically evil. When they made their first foray in to my Dungeon, they wound up in my Lair, and the Dwarves were promptly devoured by the few Beetles taking a nap or found themselves caught up in the firestorm of magic or speared upon the end of my newly developed preference for the bladed weapons – particularly swords.

I had found that the mana in the air could be easily adapted, shaped and formed to do numerous different things. Harnessing it to create a bolt of electrical power, strong enough to injure, if not kill outright was harder than I thought it would be, and I had backed away from that particular branch of magic for the time being. My proficiency with fire magic turned me in to an elemental specialist which left me more than a little vulnerable to other forms of elemental magic, most especially ice magic and also combining spell casting with the ability to wield a sword effectively.

I was actually trying to cast a basic ice magic spell called Blizzard, which would create a miniature tornado powerful enough to banish dozens of slivers of ice like knives at a target. But somehow, I got the gesture correct but the incantation confused, and instead froze the training dummy completely solid, and the slightest tap caused the entire dummy to shatter in to powdery crystals of ice. An interesting accidental discovery that after several attempts and several dozen more frozen training dummies, I had relative control of. I could already see how much fun this would be to employ against a living opponent. Granted, smaller opponents such as Dwarves would probably freeze solid but humans would most likely only be slowed by the cold. Larger opponents, such as Giants, would probably not feel a thing, unless I can channel a sufficient amount of mana in to the spell. I had also gained an acceptable proficiency with the sword, and felt confident in using it, whether defensively or to rip open the flesh of my foes. As my foes were growing in both strength and skill, I would have to keep pace with them to ensure that I would always be more than these pathetic wimps can handle.

With a new magical toy at my disposal, I was more than happy to actually stick around a little longer and gain a degree of proficiency over it before moving onward. I think that it was the smart thing to do. I had my usual assortment of Beetles and Flies, and I knew that I had the superior numbers to win through simple attrition. Almost three dozen Giant Beetles and Giant Flies, and I had yet to do more than slaughter some of this Lord of the Land's Dwarves. But it was the arrival of something new that made me decide to stay and conquer this land fully. I'm not if they deliberately walked or simply stumbled in to my domain, but when I saw the latent and untapped power and ability, I was more than happy to have them with me, rather than against me.

The portal to my domain, like the portal of Brauna Hawk, and every other portal I would encounter was a strange looking block of stone, each of its four sides had a massive doorway carved in to it, but with a door on each face, there was no way to see through from one to the other, and within the doorway, there was nothing but a dark, ink like blackness. If you stared in to it long enough, you would swear that you see something move. What exactly you see is the problem as you're not actually sure what you saw, or whether you saw anything at all. The portals look the same from every side, with the same runes running along the doorframes on every side, that glowed red, green, black and then a silvery grey in a never ending cycle. There is powerful magic in these doorways, these portals, that attracts creatures to fill out the ranks of my minions and warriors. Speaking of the demons… I sense a new arrival.

The new arrival was unrecognizable in shape and it set most of my other minions on edge, I could feel power emanating from it, latent as if its full potential had yet to be tapped in to. Green scales covered it entirely, and it was about the site of a panda, with powerful, vicious claws that looked as if they belonged on a hellhound or a werewolf. The mouth was more of a gaping maw, filled with row upon row of serrated teeth. Instinctively, and it must have been that encyclopedia of knowledge that spat out information whenever _it _felt like I needed it and it told me that I faced a pack of Demon Spawn, and this first one that had stepped forward was the Alpha, the leader of this pack.

While my other minions paused what they were doing, some adopting defensive, and in several cases, offensive postures as my Flies buzzed protectively overhead, watching for the slightest threatening motion. The solitary critter seemed to be searching for something, and when it saw me, it turned and walked towards me, its claws clicking off the flagstone floor of my Dungeon like a cat with overgrown claws walking across a marble floor. I didn't expect what happened next, as it bowed before me, lowering its head and dropping on to its front, well, I suppose one would call them knees. Reaching out with one hand, I placed it atop the beast's forehead, channeling emotions, of warmth and welcome that it would understand, for just a few moments before scratching it gently behind the ears. I couldn't help but crack a smile when it gave off a low throaty rumble, which was the equivalent of a cat purring in delight.

I didn't realize it till much later that this particular Demon Spawn, the Alpha Male of its pack was actually acting as an ambassador or as an emissary. As the rest of my minions relaxed and resumed whatever they where doing, and this Alpha male stepped aside, as the surge of energy from the portal alerted me to the arrival of the rest of his pack, another seven of them, for a total of eight new warriors for my army. None of the pack sought me out, as I had been informed to expect as they meandered their way through my Dungeon towards the Dungeon Heart. I teleported from the Portal just in time to witness a fairly impressive sight of eight young Demon Spawn, communing with the dungeon heart, and taking the mark on to their shoulders of their forelegs. They would need time to rest before they could begin their training. I had planned to blitzkrieg through this land without pausing for breath. But my new minions would need time to train, and I wanted to tap in to the latent energy that they all possessed. No doubt, if these were just "spawn" their mature form would be far more powerful.

I scratched at my forearm, virtually tearing away of layer of skin, painless. I feel like I'm loosing some of my human qualities down here. Beneath my skin is a heavier skin, more like a hardened carapace. I did not have a mirror but I know my eyes were growing from blackish brown to a near obsidian black, with the beginnings of a fire burning within them. Irritating as hell, this skin this is, but I've checked with magic and there is nothing wrong with me, and the magic does not lie. The idea of stopping over for a few days was no longer practical. Dungeons emit a unique and easily traceable magical signature due to the presence of so much magic, from the Dungeon Heart, the different rooms and all of my minions. It stands out like the solitary rose amongst a garden of thorns. I knew that the presence of these new creatures, with so much latent magical power, would alert the Lord of the Land to the presence of me and mine in their land.

And I would have a very unpleasant surprise for them when they decided to come storming in to my Dungeon. If they thought that winding up directly in the Lair of my minions was bad news, they would first have to cross the underground pool that lies across the path that leads in to my Domain. And I had a new spell that needs actual "combat testing" too…

8


	5. Chapter 5: Beheaded Messengers

**Chapter 5: **

**Beheaded Messengers.**

I had combed through the encyclopedia of information in my mind, and found that of the many different texts and treatises written by various, so called "expert researchers" and Keepers, the Giant Fly was perhaps the most useless of minions that a Keeper could have in their employ, and definitely not worth what they had to be paid . And I found that I would have to agree with those experts. Beyond basic reconnaissance duties, they were almost completely useless. It was funny to view and read that the encyclopedic knowledge within my head rated the Giant Beetle as being the "un-winged equal of the Giant Fly." They were useful as meat shields in the opening moments of combat, but were often butchered by enemies with ranged combat ability before either species could close to their effective combat ranges.

I had dueled several of the Demon Spawn in a friendly fashion and found that what made them so difficult to defeat. It was their inherent scaly carapace which deflected both spell and blade with equal effectiveness. Not to mention that their inbred ability to cast a healing spell, that minimized the negative impact of nearly any inflicted wound that cost little in terms of mana and time. If the spell is employed when the wounds are first inflicted, it is akin to facing a constantly fresh opponent. Not to mention that their natural ferocity and almost stubborn-like refusal to back down from a fight made them very deadly warriors. Coupled with the screaming magical projectile that they could cast left no doubt in my mind that they will serve well as front line, or supporting troops. Thus far, I'd yet to meet any foe with a decent number of supporting warriors that would take the form of Fairies, Priestesses, Wizards and Witches.

When one of the Giant Flies reported the presence of a party of Heroes, investigating the tunnels some kilometers away, working their way through the maze of passages that would lead in, I swear I found a smile form on my face – a smile that would have made the Dark Lord of Death coil in fear and Satan smile in glee. Kharnax, the Dark God of War and Blood would definitely smile down upon me and my forces at the blood and gore about to be splattered upon the walls and ceiling of these tunnels. I had pretty much taken a liking to Kharnax as a possible Patron. He's simple and direct, uncaring of whether your offerings are given by blade and spell or as a sacrifice.

I heard more than felt, the screech of pain from that unfortunate Giant Fly as one of his wings was sheared off by some rouge. The rouge had impressive aim, as the wing of my minion had been severed at its wing joint. My insect minion crippled it ran on his six legs as fast as they could carry him, her or it, as the case may be. While every treatise that I have access to in my mind tells me that the Giant Fly is useless, every minion in my employ is valuable at the present moment. Not to mention that I had something akin to sentimentality towards the first minions I recruited. That would change later on, as I still had more humanity, emotion and sentimentality in me at this point than I would have in the future.

"Warriors of the Black Flame," I barked through the psychic link, "Rescue Party!" I employed the power of the Keeper's hand to sweep up a plethora of my minions. These were merely the first wave. I would need their heavier armor to break up the enemy pursuit and a vast number of magical projectiles to drive back the enemy. We are ready to face them and my minions would be more than happy to slaughter all heroes in my name. But to ensure our success, the Lord of the Land would have to be drawn to me; for there is no way that I was going to go to him, to battle him above ground in the light."

The rescue party formed up, a mix of Giant Beetles and Demon Spawn and the Keeper's Hand dropped us just ahead of my maimed warrior whose current activity involved running for his life, desperately trying to shake his pursuers. The Beetles dropped into the fray closed their ranks, creating an armored line of black chitin armor with gnashing teeth that would grind flesh and bone with equal ease. It gave the charging heroes a moment of pause as they surveyed the sudden appearance of a line of toothy death, before I struck down the first Dwarf with a spell that was quietly literally, shocking: He lost control over his body, foaming at the mouth and twitching upon the floor. The Demon Spawn had dropped in and formed their own lines, grinning as they charged their own wave of screaming magical projectiles.

Two of my Imps teleported into the battle zone and grasped my crippled minion, before teleporting back to the Lair within my Dungeon to ensure his healing and safety. Don't get me wrong. Its not that I'm going soft and sentimental but more of a case of me not being certain of when or where my next minion will come through that magical portal. I saw a prime opportunity to battle test that new spell of mine, and give my minions the real work out that they were no doubt desperately craving. Considering that there were only a dozen Dwarves and Rouges.

No words were necessary as I let my fingers do the talking, unleashing a barrage of fireballs, followed closely by a barrage of screeching magical projectiles from my Demon Spawn. To their credit, the heroes reacted with practiced efficiency as the Rouges dropped behind the Dwarves who had raised their shields to absorb the barrage. I paused as my Demon Spawn laid down an even spread of suppressing fire, while consulting the map in my mind, and I had to smile when I realized where we were located between the mass confines of the underground. It only has to be said once, that when locked in combat, the commands of your Keeper are to be followed, no matter how bizarre they may seem, and when you have the enemy pinned down and outnumbered, mine was not the most logical of orders. I knew it even though I gave, "Fighting withdrawal!"

Many commanders and leaders are worried about the three C's of warfare: Command, Control, and Communication. This psychic link between a Keeper and his minions is one of the greatest tools available to a battlefield commander, especially one like me, that leads from the front lines. The ability to issue Commands en masse or to micromanage the individual allows for a flawless execution of strategy or adaptation on the fly, as was the case right now.

Having been fighting in the southern reaches just beyond my Dungeon, it was proving to be a somewhat taxing process of luring these idiots in the right direction. Ten minutes of hit and fade and, in some cases, outright running to make sure that these idiots followed up was beginning to annoy me to no end. But after twenty minutes of this, we were finally at the edge of a water filled pool. It was clean, and moments before it had been relatively calm and serene, an oasis of peace in contrast to its surroundings. It was so no longer as my warriors and I charged through it, leading a feigned retreat. I teleported across the water as the Hand swept up my minions, the Demon Spawn first, depositing on the far side of it, moments after I reappeared and began to lay down a blistering barrage of magic to give my Beetles enough time to cross the open expanse. Walking through water that is about knee high is relatively difficult, but for my Beetles the water is closer to chest high – they were practically swimming through it.

"Hold the line!" I command, as another salvo of fireballs arched from one hand, blade casually spinning in the other. Even though the line holder strategy was working, the shield line that the heroes had crafted was holding its own just as well as mine was, as wave upon wave of water and magic hammered against those shields, either being absorbed or deflected. But it did not matter, as the end game was upon my foes, "Cease fire!" It took several seconds before my minions ceased; the last of the spells aimed low, sending up plumes of water or blasting steam, while my Beetles closed their ranks, and sank low on coiled muscles ready to pounce like striking cobras. The Heroes used this opportunity to push forward into the water, but held their place in the line carefully, still maintaining a perfect shield wall. But I wasn't planning on hosing their shields with spells until somewhere something gave way.

Water maintains its properties, and boils at precisely one hundred degree Celsius. Now I'm not sure how hot the water actually got, but when the pool of water that you suddenly stand in turns to steam, and that water is up to your chest – if you're a dwarf – or your waist – if you're a more "normal" sized human, I surmise that it hurts a great deal. Where it could have been necessary to actually wade in there and slaughter them one by one. This way, I ensured that they were all dead.

A gust of superheated air and the roaring crackle of flames erupted from my hand caused the water to seemingly recoiled like a living thing, churning and boiling under the intense heat, and rising in a scalding steam. The heroes began to scream as their flesh was boiled away from their bones, their howls of agony lasting several ear drum rending moments while the burning pain swept through them. Their entire shield wall collapsing as the dwarves fell in to the water to be boiled alive. The readied barrage of magic missiles shrieked their pleasure as they scythed through the heroes still standing in what can only be described as a massacre. All I could do was smile as we waited for what was left of the waters to cool before I would send in my warriors en masse to mop up what was left of the survivors. Death would be a fitting fate for these heroes, who would undoubtedly want it if any of them had somehow survived such agony.

I had turned my back from the entire battle when two of my flies reported that a pair of Rouges had been spotted, and that they were attempting to slip away unnoticed through the shadows. I let them flee for their lives, because I know that they would bring the Lord of the Land down here, to my world, to deal with me and the rest of my kinfolk. Let him come. I'll have his skull as a trophy, his blood to offer the Dark Gods, especially the Dark God of War, and his soul as my personal private plaything to torment, whether in this life, or the next.

I issued a fresh series of commands, and let my minions carry out my instructions. The two Giant Flies I had summoned to me were more than capable of carrying the severed heads of the ten heroes who had been boiled alive as I crafted a little note, and shoved it in o the mouth of one of the severed heads. That note read, "Twelve little heroes came exploring in my world of shadow and stone. Ten little heroes met the Keeper, and were stripped to the bone. Two little heroes ran away in tears. Ask them what happened, and you shall know their fears. Come down here and face me, coward!"

I was more than a little irritated at the fact that the Warlocks were now completely beyond my reach and that I would have to stay and actually crush this pest before actually being able to move onward. It was of some consolation that I would be able to add this despicably happy and cheerful place to the territory already under my rule. Task complete – at least my part of it, I teleported back to the Heart Chamber within my Dungeon, and rested a hand against the side of the massive, beating organ. It was good to be home. It is rather strange as the Heart itself has no door to speak off, and that I can enter it by simply placing my hand against it. Contrary to what you might expect, the interior is much better than the exterior. I have the equivalent of a generously large, twelve hundred square-meter apartment divided in to a six room apartment. There was even a kitchen, and something that I suppose you could call a bathroom. Obviously, the least used rooms are the cleanest. No it's not the bathroom. It's actually the kitchen, as I cannot cook. I kill better than I cook. I can burn water in any kitchen. I am a Keeper, but I still don't know how to cook. The bathroom is not that different from the bathroom of my home world, but the key difference is the magical shower and it took some serious getting used to.

While it did clean and get rid of all the blood, gore and stains that tended to mar my clothing, and various unpleasant odors, standing while being engulfed in a mist or fog that does the cleaning leaves very little for one to do. What I would like, is a steaming hot shower, the kind where you can stand and feel the near boiling water hammer against your aching back and shoulders, like a very rough massage, working and easing all the kinks out. Now all I get to do is stand there. Sucks doesn't it? I didn't even have time to stand under what passed for a shower – I wanted to make sure that my message was delivered, and I figured the response would be worth a laugh or two. With the amount of killing I've done, I've not had much of a reason to smile lately, apart from the fact that killing is rather fun, once you get over your distaste for it.

Moving across the massively proportioned rooms, I made a note that I would have to adjust the size of this place… It's too large for one person, and as the Keeper who occupies it, I can change the interior on a whim and I find myself wishing that I had thought of it sooner. I simply reshaped my surroundings, bringing to me everything I would need to see what my pair of messengers were busy doing. I would be able to see my minions, and I just wanted to know what the reaction to my "presents" would be, because I was getting more than a little tired of waiting for this self-righteous, arrogant prick to come down here so that I can get on with the process of butchering him.

I could only watch and smile as the view unfolded before me. The Lord of _this _Land was undoubtedly going to be of little challenge. It seems that my presence is going to do more than just annoy him as my Giant Flies, having buzzed their way to the surface, are now about to go about the business of interrupting his dinner with a certain savage glee – driven of course by me. It took them only a few minutes to locate the Lord, his homestead was easily the largest of all the buildings in the entire town and the only one carved of stone with glass windows - stained glass at that that would indicate supreme wealth and a fair level of confidence in his defense and abilities.

It took my flies only moments to remedy the security weakness those windows presented as they punched through them, sending slivers flying in all directions, cascading down on a ground of ceremonial guards who dropped to the ground, covering themselves before they regained their feet and charged forward, attempting to skewer my Flies with their measly pig-stickers while the insects hovered far above, and out of their reach. They swarmed the length of the dining chamber, and I paused for a moment to take note of the gaudy finery that this particular Lord had chosen to see as decorations which included paintings, murals and frescos lining the walls and ceilings, portraying what I believe to be himself or his ancestors in conquest over various Demons and the tide of Darkness, including the fall of the Frozen Throne.

To his credit, the Lord of the Land actually lived up to his name, standing and drawing his blade without hesitation, and dropped to a defensive stance with his blade held high. I had not sent my Flies on a suicide mission against the Lord of the Land – but even as they flew over his head, they "bombed" him in a single pass with ten severed heads.

Circling once overhead, their task completed, I let out a laugh as one of my flies waggled his wings, rocking from side to side, almost as if taunting the fuming humans beneath him. They sped out of his home the same way that they had come in, but not before I received a glimpse of him losing his temper – and who wouldn't all things considered. He was absolutely livid, and fuming about the dishonorable conduct, and violation of the rules of warfare and so forth. What? There are rules to warfare around here? You got to be kidding me. While any other aligned Keeper may respect these rules of warfare, in my mind, the rules, all of the rules laid down by the warriors of light have only one purpose: To be broken and ground under foot. The note that had been scribbled and rudely stuffed into the mouth of one of the severed heads was more than enough to get the point across with sufficient clarity. Their rules are not rules that I will respect or follow.

The look on his face was beyond priceless to me, as he shouted for his guards, retainers, and followers, determined to bring every single warrior that he could bring to bear against me and my kin. It would be a long day before he showed up, and it would also be his last. While my Flies had taken the better part of a day to find him and deliver the message, my warriors had been stuck in the Training Room, no doubt itching for a _real_ workout after demolishing the pack of miniscule rats that had passed for heroes, and provided the "message" just delivered.

Everything was proceeding as I planned, but I made one minor modification to my plans of conquest once I had his head to decorate my battle standard: I want his kitchen staff kept alive, because if I have to eat anymore of that exceedingly bland chicken, I can tell you that I am going to go completely and absolutely insane. Hopefully, the kitchen staff would be more than happy to work for me, with a little friendly persuasion, and cook food that had more taste and flavor that hatchery chicken. I am the Keeper, and while the power is wonderful, I just wanted to go home. Every action I took I believed I was taking because I wanted to go home, to find the magic users to guide me, to find the passage, or the portal that would take me home to what I believed that I had lost when I was teleported here. I didn't realize that there was going to be no going back for me, even though a grievous price would be extracted from me. As much as I wanted to, I never could go back to find out what had happened to the woman I'd left behind, and left my heart with too… I just hope that she remembers it, and me, the way that just the thoughts of her have kept me warm, these many, lonely nights.

Sometimes, being a Dungeon Keeper, sucks.

6


	6. Chapter 6: A God's Rage

**Chapter 6:**

**A God's Rage.**

In spite of my previous successes, I was lying on my bed nursing what must be the mother of all headaches. It seems that while I was so busy laughing at the reaction of the aforementioned Lord of the Land, he somehow managed to detect my magic and that I had been watching him. I presume that I was laughing far too loud, and whatever spell he had cast, had left my ears ringing and the throbbing had yet to fade. There was no doubt that he was coming for me, even now. I had planned a rather sneaky series of attacks, and hit and fade maneuvers to weaken his forces before springing the coup de grace, but my headache had done nothing to calm me down. If anything, it made me even angrier than I would have though possible. It felt like I had unlocked something, a blinding red rage that if I succumbed to it fully, would give me the strength, power and ability to carve down all who would stand before me. I did not know it, but that empowering rage was a gift, a blessing from one of the Dark Gods. My offers had meant to be generic, to appease all the Dark Gods, but the offering of Blood and Skulls, had made it very specific to one particular God. I would hunger for that rage, that battle lust, that darkness within, harnessing it to crush all who would oppose me in this land. Even as it coursed through my body, sending my blood boiling, my nerves singing with a single, driven thought: Kill, I could not do so until this particular bastard came down here. Not that it mattered, as he would come into my domain eventually, determined to root me out and destroy me. With a little bit of luck, I'll get to capture him and feed him to my minions, so that I can hear the sweet music he would sing as my minions made a meal out of him.

Two of my Giant Flies, had been posted at the only above ground entrance that lead to the underground that was relatively close to the rest of my domain. I'd taken the necessary precautions, and sealed off every inch of wall and earth that could possibly be used as a breech point to break the fortification upon the walls of my Dungeon. All these heroes would find, even if they cared to excavate every square inch of rock and soil are the walls that surround my domain, leaving but one way into my Dungeon. And while there is one spell to break the reinforcements upon the walls of my dungeon, I have yet to actually come across that one solitary spell. Its power would be great, and the ability to punch through those protective wards and spells would make me an unrivaled Keeper, drawing others, even lesser Keepers, to rally under my banner to avoid their deaths at my hands. If only I could find that spell.

My minions were enjoying their period of rest, and they knew that we all awaited the coming of the heroes to participate in a battle that would make our hearts sing as we slew and flew through their ranks. The only ones still training were my Demon Spawn, who never seemed to tire, always honing their already deadly skills. It struck me as being fairly commonsensical that the more they trained and honed their skills, the closer they come to unlocking the latent power and abilities contained within them. I would have to wait and see as to what exactly those powers are. I could already tell that those powers would be great indeed, for the more they trained, the closer it came to the surface.

When my Giant Flies notified me that they had spotted the heroes, entering in force through the only tunnel that lead between the surface and underground that is my domain. I was treated to a bird's eye view of a pissed Lord of the Land who advanced with every single warrior that he could bring to bear against me. If this was everything that he had – a dozen odd Dwarves, and an equal number of Rouges, plus himself for a grand total of twenty-five midgets and shadow hugging cowards against my fleet of teeth, claws and destructive spells, it would be a slaughter.

And this particular idiot was marching his armored warriors in lockstep towards me, chocking the passageways with their ranks. Sheer volume of fire would thin their ranks considerably, as it would be next to impossible to miss these leather or plate armored lambs marching to their deaths. My flies withdrew from their observation points while the alert went out to my warriors. The Keeper's Hand swept everyone to their positions that would ensure the destruction of my enemy. The Giant Flies zipped forward, sweeping through the raised blades as they harassed the enemy, solely to provoke them into that cavern where the pool had been steamed away in the process of cooking the band of heroes that had dared to intrude beforehand. Within the cavern, my beetles were already moving in position along three of its sides, creating a rough crescent shape with the points forward to create an overlapping array of hungry mouths that were dying to kill something that had more taste than the chicken we all eat to survive. The pool would be where these heroes would bleed and die. The pack of Demon Spawn and I have a magnificent array of spells to cut down my enemies. A solitary barrage of annihilating magical energy would be more than sufficient to begin cleansing these bastards from my land.

It took about as much time as I anticipated before the winged monsters swept into the cavern, high over everyone, nearly touch the ceiling above, as war cries echoed down the passage from heroes hell bent on slaughtering my minions, hell bent on an "heroic" charge to the death. I had, at one point, overestimated the intelligence of my opponents, and felt that I had done so again. It was the sheer simplicity of these suicidal charges head on against my forces. That is not to say that my own beast like minions are the sharpest knives in the drawer either – but at least mine are smart enough to follow orders.

I directed the final steps from the Dungeon Heart, using the map and the God's view of the underground to direct the fire of my Demon Spawn, ordering them to concentrate their fire against a single target at a time. If they didn't kill it, they would definitely disable it, knocking the dwarves down on their faces or their backs, almost submerged in the remaining rivulets of water. Exactly where I wanted them to fall – they would be the ones who would act as a barricade for the moment – long enough for the Lord of the Land himself to show up and, hopefully, get his head knocked clean off his shoulders, for I look forward to mounting his polished skull upon my battle standard, once my minions were done feeding upon his bloated corpse.

The magic missiles that my Demon Spawn cast emitted their high pitched screams of pleasure or agony – I never could decide which it was - that ensured that the midget Dwarves kept themselves as low as they could, to avoid getting one of the tooth-lined projectiles embedded in their skulls, but they continued their forward push without hesitation, even as they ducked or raised their shields to absorb the impacts, pushing into the pool of water that came up to their knees – but closer to my ankles.. considering that I am six and a half feet tall, so I definitely tower over these problematic dwarves. The Rouges had to duck even lower, and it was almost comical to see them nearly bent double to avoid the wave of magical death.

Moments after I had unleashed my first spray of volcanic projectiles that two Rouges took directly in the chest, did I hear the sweet sound of heavy metal plates clanking against one another, the sound definitely that of heavy, ornate plate armor. Even in the limited light of the underground, the plate mail gleamed, making the Lord of the Land stand out upon the battlefield, whether the battle took place in the underground, where there was little natural light, or upon a sunlit field above. He held his massive and supposedly "mighty" pig-sticker in one hand. I intended to blast him from the battlefield long before he got within effective range with that thing. Unfortunately, his presence and that pig sticker had a morale boosting effect and his warriors rallied.

They rose up and charged forward, howling war cries to their various false gods and deities, water churning around them as their momentum caused the little water to rise like a wave that followed behind them. The Dwarven shields formed an effective barrier that blocked the spells of my minion, negating the advantage, and once again proves that no plan succeeds completely in battle. The opening gambit had been played, and we had felled several of the enemy. I roared: The sound of death personified and my minions passed to let me forwards. I raised my sword, and pointed it towards the charging heroes. The greenish black wall of carapaces drove forward to meet the Dwarves halfway while another barrage of magic lanced towards the enemy.

I grinned. Most of beetles would be slaughtered, but beetles are relatively cheap in comparison to the value I place upon my Demon Spawn. Admittedly, its one of the few things that I didn't have to worry about now, but it was something that I would have to consider in later campaigns and engagements: The intelligence and morale of my warriors. Beetles and Flies are not the smartest and when told to "fight!" they'll get out there and fight even if out numbered ten to one. But smarter, more intelligent creatures, such as Demon Spawn, would sooner run back through the nearest portal than engage in a suicidal charge since my minions preferred being back in limbo over dying for a maniacal Keeper. Of course, they would have to make it to the portal without running into me… In my Dungeon there is but one rule: Stand by my banner, fight by my banner, and die by _my_ banner. If you are incapable of doing that, then I will kill you myself.

The battle was joined as my more expendable warriors charged in using claws, teeth and fangs to tear and rend steel armor and the flesh beneath it. The Dwarves were thrown back by the bulk that smashed through their line, their charge degrading to a whirling melee as their counterattacked. Dwarven axes punched through carapace armor, biting into the flesh of my minions, while the Rouges sliced and stabbed with their swords. The black, tar like blood of my minions turned the ankle high water a nearly black, the red blood of the heroes blotted out. My Beetles had sold themselves dearly, nearly half their number butchered for less than a quarter of the enemy, even with my winged warriors surging in to the fray, their sudden airborne assault taking down several rouges, amongst them the two I had struck earlier. From where I stood, I could see one of my flies surging forward, driving the barbed tip on the end of his abdomen through the mouth of one unfortunate Rouge. The poisoned tip pierced through the back of his skull and he was lifted from the ground, while his hands scrambled desperately along the smooth flanks of the Giant Fly, trying to get a decent grip, before he was thrown off, into a wall. The sounds of his breaking bones were music to my ears.

The sudden flicker of a shadow where they should have been none was a minor mistake from the owner that would have been overlooked by another human. But when you tread in the realm of a Dungeon Keeper, the slightest mistake means death. A Keeper sees and knows everything that goes on within his domain. I teleported, moving from one side of the cavern to the other, quickly and efficiently cutting off the Rouges who had been attempting to sneak into my Dungeon, no doubt in an attempt to destroy the Dungeon Heart. The grin was savage but I wore it with pride while I reappeared, launching a massive shower of sparks. The sparks would not injure, but would be more than sufficient to break up the Cloak of Shadows that these pesky humans were using to mask themselves from me. The injuring, maiming and slaughter, I would meet out personally.

But the trio of Rouges that bore down on me were definitely my most cutting problem. The first time you pick up an injury in combat, especially from some shadow hugging coward who lacks the courage to carry a blade and meet their foe head on, is enraging. More than the blade that had buried itself in my upper. The wound hurt, and I felt my own blood coursing down my skin, bubbling slightly from the rage contained within me that sought its escape to the surrounding, copper smelling air. I snarled as the blade was yanked, extracted from my shoulder. The muscle was cut and lacerated, and for a human, the wound would have been disabling. But it barely slowed me down, as I could feel my changed body healing the wound from within. It would only be a matter of seconds before it closed, the only thing left behind a heavy scar, almost a centimeter wide, and nearly four inches long. Something exploded within me in those moments while I drew the heavy long sword from the scarab at my side, and spun the blade in my hand as they charged me, the three of them all at once.

The first was easy enough to intercept, as there was no real strength behind the strike, and I caught his blade against mine, forcing his blade down to his side. His blade had yet to be fully driven down when I lunged forward, driving my forehead directly against his nose. The bone broke with a satisfying crunch and the splinters were driven up and into his brain. He slid to the ground slowly, confusion written on his face for several long seconds before I snap kicked the corpse to his two accomplices. One ducked the flying body of his comrade, while the other "caught" his friend, literally, dropping his blade in a vain attempt to somehow lessen the impact. It was to no avail, as he crumpled to the floor, pinned down by the dead weight of his comrade. The second was a dual wielder with a hand axe in one hand, and a short sword in the other. And a man of some skill too, as he jumped determined to drive the blades of both his weapons in to my chest. Amateur. Calling upon the mana in the air, I fashioned and hurled it, "Väggen av uppehället avfyrar!"

The flame entity came to life in my palm, pulsing for a moment before it leaped upward and expanded to its full size, creating a wall of living flame three meters wide in the path of the descending Rouge. The heat was of sufficient intensity that it melted the flesh from his bones, burned away his clothing, and even consumed the metal blades of his weapons, leaving an ash white smoking skeleton, charred upon the floor. These are the warriors that my opponent sends against me? Mere children who lack any true skill with weapon or magic?

I stalked over to the last man, struggling to get out from beneath his slain comrade. He saw me approach, and I gave him that special smile, the one that makes it clear that death is coming for your soul. He raised his blade in a desperate attempt to defend himself, for naught as I slapped it aside with my own before pinning it the ground beneath my boot. Raising my other foot, I got a beautiful view off his eyes, a deep piercing, sapphire blue, before stamping down, the bones in his face breaking with a crunch, and he went limp, blood trickling out of his ears. Rest assured, the man is dead, for I don't do things halfway. I spat upon the third corpse, muttering my contempt of these so called warriors who were merely children playing at war.

Turning my attention back to the battle, I took note of something that seemed to be throwing back my minions in all directions. He was holding his own, and there was no doubt that every time one of my minions or warriors closed with him, they were thrown back, with varying injury. The Lord of the Land had to be given credit as the bodies of nine of my lesser minions, Beetles and Flies, were littered around him, along with the corpses of two of my Demon Spawn. My minions were holding him in place, while my Demon Spawn devoured the rest of his warriors. But it was reaching the point where I was running out of sacrificial meat shields to throw at this bastard. Not to mention that his armor, while dented and damaged, was still effective at absorbing the magic being hurled at it by my increasingly exhausted ranks of Demon Spawn. He was either letting his armor absorb them or, through some ridiculous combination of luck, skill and ability, deflecting the screeching projectiles that were fired at him.

He raised himself to his full height, side stepping one of few remaining Giant Flies that had swooped down in a futile attempt to loop off the man's head. His sword struck the winged creature in the flank, a shallow wound, but it forced the Fly low enough for him to grab it with his free hand before punching it, once, twice and then a third time, * Mandibles and exoskeleton cracked under the force, and the Lord spun his sword, lopping off a wing and several of its claw like appendages, leaving the creature flopping madly upon the flagstone ground, before stabbing it through the throat and killing it.

Most impressive, but it is time to end this show. Seeing that he had dispatched the last of his immediate foes, he turned and paused. I was not sure whether he was shocked or surprised, as my minions had drawn back, and had formed a rough half circle around the cavern. Broken swords and shattered axes littered the floor, his warriors, what was left of their mangled and bloody corpses, littered the cavern floor, several of them having been thrown and in one case, punched in to the surrounding walls. One unfortunate individual had been hoisted off his feet and impaled on the stalactites far overhead.

It was time to prove my worth. I drew my blade and spun it experimentally in my hand, "Almighty Lord of the Land. Your time has come. Face my blade. And die!"

He glared at me from beneath his full face helm, eyes narrowed to slits, "In the name of God, the impure souls of the fallen shall be cleansed with fire and blade, and face judgment at the gates of Heaven!" He whispered, a chant, a mantra to steady his nerves, as he brought his massive blade to bear, "For the Light! For Justice!" he charged in blade raised, determined to end the confrontation, the battle, with a single stroke of his blade. Unfortunately, this Lord forgot that he faced a Dungeon Keeper in man to man combat, and not a saint. Even as I rushed forward to meet his blade, my prepared magic flared to life, masking me from sight and blinding him. My blade lashed down, a killing blow that he blocked with his own rising slash. But we had concentrated far too much energy in our blades. As they crossed paths, they shattered sending fragments of metal flying in all directions. It was comical, when you consider that we were both staring at our broken swords, and then at each other. A pommel, and several inches of blade… looks like we're going to settle this the old fashioned way: With our fists.

I turned to face him, even as he dropped into a loose stance, spreading his shoulders apart evenly, to distribute his weight. Even weighed down as he was, he displayed true skill as he came to rest upon the ball's of his feet, and I saw his muscles fall in a relaxed stance that would allow him to lash out in any direction with cobra like suddenness. I didn't bother mimicking his stance, as he charged forward, lashing out with the fury of a wounded panther. I spun, ducking low beneath one kick, while he spun round, executing a reverse kick, that I had not seen coming.

The blow landed, driven by nearly a quarter ton of metal and muscle it crashed into the Keeper of the Black Flame, knocking him back several feet before he came to a stop, his ribs broken, most of them in more than one place along his right side. Breathing hurt, as his right side felt as if on fire, even as he regained his footing, and dropped into a cautious guard stance, even as the Lord of the Land came charging in again. This time, the Keeper met him full on, head to head as they collided with each other, trading blows, kicks and punches as a pair of brawling lycanthropes would.

The Champion of Light deflected and blocked the numerous punches and kicks that assailed him with the fury of a cornered wolverine, deflecting them with ease. Suddenly, the Keeper had closed to a grappling range, his hands wrapping around the back of the gorget that protected the neck of the Lord of the Land. He pulled the head down and drove a hard knee into it, twice, to dent the already bile streaked and blood stained armor, before releasing his grip and driving his foot in the face of the downed Lord of the Land

Staggering back, the Lord of the Land shook his head to clear the stars and static that danced before his eyes while he gasped, tearing the battered helm from his head, revealing a face marred by injury. Where the warped metal had cut his left cheek, blood trailed down the side of his face like a river. He breathed in as he rose back to his feet, and his jaw clicked, as he massaged it for a moment, before rewarding the Keeper with a grim smile, "Good hit."

The Keeper smiled, giving a mock bow to his sarcastic opponent, buying time for his injuries to heal. His ribs had almost fully regenerated, but that did not mean that his right side did not feel tight, and somewhat pinched, the freshly knitted bones somewhat uncomfortable, in the way they felt to him, "Thank you."

The Champion of Light lashed out with a series of rapid snap kicks. The Keeper parried two such kicks but grabbed the outstretched leg on the third kick and jerked back. The Lord of the Land wobbled off balance for a moment, before the outstretched arm, driven by the fury of a Dungeon Keeper crashed in to the chest of his opponent, slamming him to the ground. Not breaking his stride, the Keeper leaped skyward, somersaulting to rest his feet against the ceiling of the cavern some twenty feet overhead, before springing off, and driving directly towards the prone armor clad opponent.

The Lord rolled to the side as the knee of the Keeper slammed in to the flagstones, the force behind the blow shattering the stone beneath the knee, driving several inches into the rock, knocked loose from their supposedly secure foundation. Rising back to his feet, the Keeper sensed the blow too late, raising his hands just enough to absorb part of the impact as the armored foot crashed in to the side of his head, knocking the Keeper to the floor, before jamming that foot hard in to his lower back, pinning the Keeper to the ground.

"You come into my home, into my domain and you dare challenge me? You disrespect my home, and dare to threaten my family?" he roared in to the Keeper's ear, "You violated the rules and traditions that have governed the way of combat for over a century! You have no honor! No pride! You bastard coward! You should be granted a slow death for your crimes against me and my family! I will make sure that your eyes are torn from your skull while you live! Your tongue sliced from your mouth, along with your traitorous lips…"

The man continued to rant and rave in to the ear of the Keeper, who had begun to tune out the dire threats and promises, the rage and anger that coursed through him rose to the surface, as he folded his arms beneath him and pushed upwards. He felt the resistance upon his back, but found the red encroaching upon his vision and his common sense far too fast for him to control. The Keeper roared as his pupils exploded, fire encroaching and consuming them, while he pushed up hard, knocking his arrogant opponent to the side, and he rose back to his feet.

The Lord grimaced, shaking locks of hair out of his eyes, "Die foul worshiper of the Dark!" He sent a powerful double punch combination streaking towards the head of the Keeper. The Keeper reacted smoothly, red having consumed his vision, rage burning through every muscle in his body, as he dropped on to his knees, the pair of armored fists missing by mere inches. He drove forward, slamming his shoulder into the guts of his opponent, the armor plates buckling and finally shattering to cut the flesh beneath. Wrapping his arms around the waist of the Lord, Keeper Firestorm hefted him, turning what was a grapple into a powerful over the back throw that laid the Lord of the Land prone on his back. The follow through echoed the ferocity of the throw as the standing Keeper dropped, a rage driven elbow smashing in to exposed ribs.

The sound of breaking ribs was audible, as was the crack and shatter of the bones in the Keeper's arm from the elbow strike. To his credit, the Lord of the Land refused to give up, pushing the near exhausted Keeper off him, and crawling on to his knees. Looking up, he could see the Keeper struggling, also on his knees. The first to regain his footing would be at an advantage. The Lord crawled towards the somewhat dazed Keeper, and drove a gauntleted fist in the side of the Keeper's head, sending him reeling to the floor, blood streaming down the side of his face, bleeding from the savage blow to the temple.

The Keeper looked up at the Lord of the Land, now on one knee, while blood trickled down the side of his face, pooling along his upper lip for several seconds before continuing to stream downwards. He licked his lips, tasting his own blood, tasting the power contained within his blood. The fury, the rage, the anger and the blood lust, all contained within him. He had tapped it, but briefly, and had used it to level the battlefield with his opponent. But now, he needed to tap in to it again.

"The power within you. I, The Dark God Kharnax can bestow upon you, as my blessing. Accept my offer, and serve me, Keeper. Serve me, and offer the skulls and blood of those you slay, the blood and skulls of your enemies, and I shall grant you this blessing, the power to unleash the Blood Rage, the most recent of the many blessings that I have bestowed upon you."

What choice did the Keeper have? To refuse the Dark God would almost certainly spell his death, and defeat, sowing doubt amongst his own warriors whether he had what it took to lead, to be The Keeper of the Black Flame. And Keeper Firestorm would not want to fight off challenges to his leadership, not until one of his own warriors became foolish enough to challenge him once his power had grown sufficiently. Besides, every Keeper needs a God that he, or she, can turn to when in need of guidance. There was no choice, "Kharnax…"

The Lord of the Land grabbed Keeper Firestorm by the throat, hoisting him to his feet, and then in to the air, "And you thought that you could best me? You though that you could challenge my rule? You though that you could win?" He threw the Keeper into the air, catching him across his own broad, muscular shoulders, "You were wrong," he drove his head backwards in to the spine of the Keeper, "This," he drove his head again into the rapidly weakening spine of the Keeper, "Is," he slammed the tormented Keeper to the ground, "Your," before soccer-kicking him across the cavern, "Death!"

The eyes of the Keeper were closed as he struggled for breath, nearly blind from his swollen eyes. From between bloodied lips, and broken teeth, the Keeper of the Black Flame, managed to choke out two words that would change the nature of the combat, "I accept." It mattered not that he was wounded; mortally wounded with no hope of recovery, that death would be kinder. But the broken bones were already healing, the majority already knitted back together. The internal wounds were nearly all healed as well, the demonic blessing of regeneration, given unknowingly long before, ensured the continued life of the Keeper of the Black Flame, in spite of all the injuries that he had suffered.

Watching the battling duo, seated comfortably upon his throne of bones and skulls, Kharnax dipped his hand into the river of blood that flowed at his feet, the blood of all those slain and sacrificed in his honor. Their blood had contained their strength, and their abilities, and the blood held the key, as it always did. Kharnax dipped one finger in the river, seeking that which he sought, the power of Rage, the Blood Rage. Withdrawing that finger, he flicked it towards the prone form of the Keeper that he could see, "It is done." His voice was deep and throaty, even though the words were audible, it still sounded as if a bestial dog was growling in the background with every word he said.

The tired, aching form of the Keeper felt it, fresh energy, strength and power coursing through the tired and aching bones in his body. It was everything that he dreamed it could be, for never had he felt such raw power, both physical and mental. He knew that in the rage that was at the edge of his senses, like a near overflowing dam. He just had to "flick" the metaphorical switch, and the Keeper of the Black Flame did exactly that.

The power raged through his body, fueling every tired muscle, strengthening every sore bone while the last of his wounds began to close up, the lacerations, bruises and cuts all disappearing without leaving any scar. The Lord of the Land had been standing over him with the hilt of his broken sword, several inches of the sharp blade still attached to it. The eyes of the Keeper snapped open, and his hand rose up, intercepting the descending broken blade that had been aimed at his throat. Wrapping his hand around the shearing guard of the long sword, he twisted hard, and the Lord of the Land spun with his blade, suddenly finding himself upon the stone floor with the knees of the Keeper driving directly in to his stomach, slamming the wind out of the man, while his grip went slack.

Uncaring of the blade embedded in his hand, the free fist of the Keeper began to rain down a battery of hammer like blows into the shattered armor clad form of the Lord of the Land. The land was only capable of protecting the Lord from some of the Keeper's fury, as the armor gave way to the hammering that grew in both ferocity and intensity. A no mercy beating that broke the bones in the arms that tried to shield his face to no avail. The Keeper of the Black Flame roared his triumph, his hands wrapped around the head of the Lord, pressing down against the forehead with the demonic strength gifted on to him as he growled in to the face of his opponent, "Your soul is mine!"

The bone cracked, audible, as the Lord of the Land lay stunned by the sudden recovery of his foe, until his skull gave way, flattened by the sheer pressure placed upon it, sending blood and brain out across the floor in a near artistic paint like spray. The blade of the Lord of the Land had been dislodged and lay to the side, coated in the hot acidic blood of the Keeper that continued to slowly eat through the steel blade, the holy power within the weapon slowly but surely being overwhelmed by the Darkness in the Keeper, latent in his blood. The fragment of sword was more than enough, for it to be driven in to the neck, severing the jugular artery and also the windpipe. He worked the blade, side to side, severing the neck and also the spinal column of the corpse that was sprawled before him. Rising back to his feet, the rage still upon him, he bellowed, the sound shaking the rocks around him as his warriors roared their pleasure at the success of their Keeper, their leader. Together, as one, they marched, towards the sole passageway that lead to the land above.

Above ground, it should have been just past noon, perhaps one or two in the afternoon, but the cloud cover had appeared from nowhere, streaking in from the neighboring lands, and had been shrouded in darkness for many long days now. The Inhabitants had known that their Lord had ventured in to the underground to slay the source of such darkness and evil. Unfortunately the encroaching darkness had made it clear that he had failed, and done more than just fail. He had been slain. The few remaining guards and warriors left behind had either been to young, to inexperienced, or too old to actually fight, gathered together whatever weapons they could muster. They would mount a defense, but they knew that their first stand against the hordes of darkness would also be their last. But still they gathered, to do their duty, in spite of their fears. They knew that they would be butchered to the last man, even as those who had the motivation, and more importantly, the money, fled in terror while those that remained barricaded themselves in their homes, to await the assault, and their deaths.

The ground shook as the darkness boiled out of the ground beneath their feet, and the battle was short, almost pointless. The few guards that remained were cut down in seconds. Carnage and chaos played across the entire land while the inhabitants trembled, knowing full well the fate of their neighboring land. Hell from beyond their worst nightmares descended upon the innocent souls, and there was no escape.

10


	7. Chapter 7: Fires in the Lair

**Chapter 7: **

**Fires in the Lair.**

The name of this particular land, was not one that did anything to encourage my sense of politeness or good manners. How can you not take pity on anyone who would take pride in living in a land called Water Dream Warm? It's nothing to brag about, especially when the name is chosen by the Lord of the Land. For me, it was another good reason to ensure that the man's head was separated from his shoulders. My arrival was a quiet and subdued affair, with only the three most powerful of my Demon Spawn with me. This rat hole would fall under my dominion, but before I can get round to that, I have to summon a Dungeon Heart into this land. The Dungeon Heart is the life source that keeps a Keeper alive, and grants a very much appreciated bonus of resurrection in the untimely event of death. The process of summoning a new Dungeon Heart in neutral territory is relatively easy. Unfortunately, I'm not trying to summoning a dungeon heart in neutral territory. This is enemy controlled territory and the summoning process is not without risk.

According to the encyclopedia within my skull – the one that I wished I could get rid off sometimes – summoning a Dungeon Heart in enemy territory carries two overwhelming dangers. The first is something called "psychic backlash." That fancy term simply means that the mana flow for the summoning spell is impure and "tainted" with too much light energy. The infusion of Light and Dark means that the Dark is expunged, which means that I will, if I'm lucky, go completely insane, and my minions will go on a rampage, killing each other before going on the warpath and attempting to destroy everything in their path. And that is just the first problem.

The second greatest problem is not actually that great, if you handle things right. When a Dungeon Heart is summoned into existence, the mana concentrations are astronomically high. The concentration of raw mana necessary is so high that nothing can actually cloak the summoning of a Dungeon Heart. The mana concentrations will alert every Wizard, Mage, Priestess, Fairy and person in tune with the rivers and flows of mana that make magic possible. Fortunately, the spike is so sudden and dramatic, that it is next to impossible to actually get a fix on it, because for those who feel it, it will be like a blow from a war hammer to the temple. Even though the heroes start tunneling to find the source of that power, they don't know where to start looking, which gives me more than enough time to prepare a suitably warm and appropriate welcome.

The summoning process is made far easier when there are others who can also contribute and aid in the process. For many of the lower life forms, namely the more beast or insect like warriors, this contribution comes from their mana, or simply their lives which are sucked out of them to fuel to process. Others that are capable of spell casting, such as the Demon Spawn, are able to assist in the summoning, and their additional support makes it much easier to summon a Dungeon Heart without having the Keeper become a raving lunatic or drooling vegetable. 'The chosen room to hold the Heart was the smallest cavern that I have ever seen in my time underground. I would say it measured about five meters square, which is just barely enough room.

Within the center of the cavern my Demon Spawn signaled their readiness. The latent mana had built up to near astronomical levels, which would make it much easier to achieve the necessary critical mass of mana necessary for the spell to work. I moved into place, and began the chant facing the open space. The scaly hides of my Demon Spawn began to glow, a faint blue that surrounded them, even as they began to move the mana, channeling the raw vibrant energy in gentle coalescing waves of light that echoed outwards from their forepaws which wove patterns around them, before coalescing together overhead in a gentle glow of bluish green light. Their scar and laceration decorated hides were glowing. Raw mana is untamed energy and is best treated with white kid gloves, as a single misstep would have wiped out everyone present. In moments, the mana channeled by the trio had been pushed together to a single pulsing mass of barely contained and controlled power.

Focusing my own magical powers, I channeled the spell, focusing every ounce of power within me to bring the Dungeon Heart, the core of my base operations in this land into existence. The incantations were not something that I can actually provide you with – I speak the Dark Tongue, the Language of the Dark Gods, but I have no idea how to write it. I won't deny that the process is tiring, draining, as every muscle went tense within me, as though it was me being twisted, shaped and stretched like a sheet of wet tissue paper. My strength and powers were fading – as they normally do – when I cast this spell. It is no simple spell, and it is truly an endurance exercise for a Keeper. Fortunately, I can take pride in that I have competent minions, as they stayed close, casting their healing and regenerative spells, almost as if on instinct, targeting me, keeping me awake, aware and focused upon the monstrous challenge of pushing what is in my mind, and shaping it in to something tangible in the real world, without giving myself a frontal lobotomy.

It took form, slowly, in my mind, gradually becoming something of substance in reality. It came in to existence with a sudden blinding flash of light that lashed outward with a strength and ferocity that I found myself wishing that all of my warriors possessed. It slammed in to my form with the force of a hammer, 'the sudden outpouring of light blinding me after so long beneath the ground and away from the sweet caress of the light. I'd forgotten how it feels, and in all fairness, I would have preferred not to have such a painful reminder of it.

I could feel it, even though I could not see it, as it somehow seemed to hover several inches above ground, waiting for a signal from me to descend onto the soft loamy soil to take its rightful place. I gave the command within my mind, and sure enough the Dungeon Heart descended on the soil and formed the foundations of the Heart. The Heart Chamber began to form the red and grey flagstones of the floor, the walls of the chamber taking on the classic mosaic like pattern as they were hardened and reinforced, creating an impenetrable barricade to all but the most powerful of magical spells.

I was exhausted, but from where I lay, half curled and crunched against the bottom third of the wall of my latest Dungeon Heart, I knew that the headache would pass in a few hours. It wasn't the worst headache that I've experienced, but it still felt as if I'd had front row tickets to a full array of drums being hammered upon my skull, making my skull feel about three and a half sizes too small for my brain. Physically, I was more than a little spent, but I have far greater reserves of mana. I drew into the void and reached out, channeling the mana to summon the small group of Imps. The small brown and black colored, bug eyed creatures stared vacantly ahead. Their minds – as limited as they were – would not begin to function until they received their first order. Otherwise, they would be something akin to oversized dolls. Looking at them, I cleared my thoughts and wiggled my toes, and was relieved that I could feel them as I hauled myself back to my feet.

I gave my orders and it was amusing to watch as they blinked for the first time, and seemed to realize that they existed and that they had work to do… lots of it. They moved, but they were moving far too slow. I didn't even think. I just did it. I lashed out at the closest Imp, hurling a pair of burning spheres at it. They collided, taking him in the neck, one after the other so quickly that it did not even realize that it had been struck, walking forward another two steps before it stopped and the head slid off at the neck, completely burned through, the searing heat of the molten disk I had hurled had cauterized the wound. The remainder moved as if the fires of hell were burning at their feet, and they began hacking at the walls as if it were their enemy and they were in a mad battle frenzy. They were just eager to not wind up like the smoking corpse of their obliterated comrade, as several others fled to attend to other tasks. I had conjured quite a few of them, and there was more than enough work to keep them busy in the hours to come.

I think that they know what would happen to them if the tasks they were assigned were not completed, and quickly. They have a tired Keeper and three equally tired Demon Spawn. We're all hungry, and I'm sure that my Demon Spawn would not mind an Imp as a snack; I'd rather have dry bland hatchery chicken than actually try to eat an Imp. For what it is worth, I kicked the headless corpse over to my Demon Spawn. They tore its flesh, a savage grin upon their faces as they devoured the corpse, not stopping for even the bones, which they crunched with obvious relish, obviously savoring the bone marrow that pulsed with mana.

I would have to be a fool to think that I am still a complete human considering the sheer quantity of blood that my hands were drenched in. The changes to my body, and to me as a person, were making me into something else. I had seen and noted the changes, and they did not worry me much. Every change was in its own way a blessing that made me harder, stronger, and far more deadly to any fool who would dare to stand up to me.

I admit that one of the things I really liked was that I could, from the confines of the Dungeon Heart, gain access to a view that let me oversee my entire Dungeon, but also what lay beyond its walls, in the underground, once it was properly and fully explored. But I would also be able to see the heroes, if they wandered close enough to my domain. But for the moment, I was more interested in the state of my little empire. It was a interesting tool, considering that it was a crystal, a massive crystal that had been carved in half, creating a massive screen that was more than enough to view my dungeon, and it was rather interesting as I could move through different zoom levels, whether to focus on a given area or on a given warrior.

It was actually quite nice to be able to view things this way, instead of having to wander through my entire domain, as I am in the habit of doing on foot. Its not that hard to use but the fact that it is tied to my mind and my thoughts, doing what I want and showing what I want, it takes quite a bit to get used to so that I can work with it comfortably. To the north of my Dungeon Heart lies the Lair of my small but well trained army, for the moment numbering about fifteen warriors in total. Where there used to be a massive gold seam to my East, my Treasury lay, filled to the brim and almost overflowing with riches and gold. I had ordered the construction of my Training Room to ensure that it maximized efficiency by placing it to the immediate right of the Lair, but "above" - relative to the Dungeon Heart when you've got a bird's eye view of things – to effectively lock off and cordon that entire area. In spite of being an Army of Darkness, any and all armies still march on its stomach. I had constructed a generous Hatchery to the South of the Heart to ensure that my warriors would be well fed.

I took note however, of the incessant training that my Demon Spawn were doing – it bordered on ridiculous, considering the sheer strength and power they already possessed – they were at their fighting peak. While it does cost me gold and a fair amount of it too, to keep the training room in operation constantly – what? You didn't think those dummies actually last forever did you? Replacements are needed! – I could see no point in denying them access to it – not like I actually had any way of keeping them out of there even if I wanted too.

I can almost hear your unasked question dear reader: - Just what exactly do I do with all that gold and jewels that I accumulate? What on earth do you think my minions and warriors fight for? You don't actually think they fight for me just because they have to or something? What? Money makes any world go round. It doesn't matter where that world is. It's not as if I have to pay them permanently. Basically, the way it works is that they get paid, they fight and do what I want. Once the land is conquered, they have a place to live and stay, for as long as they want. Should war break out, they can be called upon to fight, and to defend their homes and by extension, the different conquered lands that make up my empire. Sometimes, I think that I should open a casino so that I can actually get my money back…. But that is an idle wish.

I watched with quiet amusement as my near exhausted Demon Spawn ambled into the Hatchery, devouring the chickens that wandered round in circles mindlessly, each of the cute little white flurry objects disappearing with a squawk and a burst of pure white feathers – reminds of me of how some heroes seem to explode or implode when struck with one spell to many. To say that they ate more than their fill would be quite the understatement, as they left a pile of bloody feathers behind them which reminded me that three Demon Spawn had consumed anywhere between six and nine chickens a piece. Thank the gods that I'd had the foresight to actually make such a large Hatchery to keep my minions fed and satisfied. I found myself wondering if Demon Spawn could actually suffer from indigestion.

This trio of Demon Spawn were the most powerful of my minions, the most powerful of their entire pack. I had left the rest of them behind and spread them out across the lands under my control, if for no other reason than to reinforce the garrisons keeping the limited human, or should I say, slave population under control. But in all fairness, and as the Dungeon Keeper, I could feel the mana change within them and their mana regeneration was more than a little amazing, as I could feel the difference in them. The immense amount of mana that they had channeled in the summoning of the Dungeon Heart had caused a drastic change within them. Demon Spawn, as the name implies, are the spawn of numerous different Demons, but as I understand the way things work in this crazy world, these "spawn" have the choice of what adult form they will finally take, the most common being the dragon form, but it is up to them to choose when they will mature.

It was clear to me that they were ready to enter that final phase in their growth. The question was only how long it would take, as they collapsed in to their beds, which were nothing more than a large pile of skulls and bones from numerous different animals with the fur and feathers of numerous different slaughter creatures. I'm guessing that for each of them, some of those skulls would be trophies from the trials that they had gone through during their lives. Makes sense to me, I keep the heads of butchered Lords of the Land mounted on my battle standard.

There is no doubt that the Forces of Light were already hard at work trying to find me, to "exterminate with extreme prejudice." The quartet of Giant Flies in my employ were more than a little busy carrying out reconnaissance runs on the surrounding underground passages and tunnels. There is only one access from the surface to what is my domain, and that is easy enough to find. The only problem was actually trying to find were the dwarves had wandered too while searching for me. So far, we'd found over a dozen different tunnels, branching in almost every direction imaginable, but no sign of any actual heroes.

I get the distinct impression that time moves differently in this world, as if several hours of time in my home world are the equivalent of a single hour in this world. I'm still adjusting to the difference, but it's not an easy adjustment to make. I wake up after what feels like two days of doing nothing but sleeping, only to find that it has been just a single night. The pulse throbbing in my head felt like the swatch of destruction that I had carved through this world. It was sudden and it worried me when I heard the rumbling and then the subsonic boom several minutes later. As I focused upon the source of the explosion, it sent trembles down my spine for it was centered upon the central Lair for my minions. The lair is about a minute's walk from the Dungeon Heart, but it was easier for me to teleport, which would give me the advantage of surprise with regards to whatever I would face in the confines of my own Dungeon. I teleported to what would be the "doorway" of my Lair that is presently without a door. I would have to get a Workshop in my current Dungeon.

The sight that greeted me most certainly left me extremely pissed off. Where I once had a trio of resting Demon Spawn, I was now left with a trio of craters that were hammered in to the stone floor by a trio of wrecking balls, or worse. Even with my weapons drawn, I was less than eager to face who or perhaps what had vaporized my three most powerful warriors. The craters were anywhere between a foot to eighteen inches deep, the smells akin to burnt cordite. My three most powerful minions had literally blown themselves to tiny little chunks and violent convulsing sprays of bluish green ichors, even though there were no sprays, considering they had seemingly self combusted and left nothing behind.

My minions were gathered around me, forming a rough half circle around the trio of still smoking craters when a sudden glow flared brightly before steadying. From the smoke and ashes something melted the stone and wall before my eyes, the heat actually warming the rocks and earth. My minions were momentarily paralyzed by the sight before them, the smell of sulfur filling the air around us. The mixed collection of Beetles and Spiders were standing around. It clicked in that moment, that this was no attack or invasion but it was, in English for those who do not understand the Demonic Languages, Demonic was magic, albeit some dark magic, as everything shifted, as if the craters were caught in a time warp. The eight pointed star of Darkness appearing in a burning trail of fire, before reversing the destruction that had been wrought in my Dungeon before my sight.

I recognized the tears that appeared, the shimmering wavy lines of black that floated in mid air for several long seconds before they ruptured outwards, opening massive pools of black shadow. The portals wavered for several long seconds before they stepped forward collectively, a trio of Dragons. And these were definitely not a bunch that any sane hero would want to face off against. Dark green, almost emerald like in color, but still somehow with the opacity of a midnight darkness. Their claws were massive just like in their immature form, oversized but definitely razor sharp, more than capable of catching and deflecting a sword, or other paltry weapon. One of them actually had spikes running down the length of his back and tail, no doubt more than capable of impaling and killing a deserving hero with ease. This trio of Demon Spawn, or should I say, Dragons, are an excellent example of what Demon Spawn can become.

As they stared round, ignoring every single warrior that stood ready to cut them down, or attempt to at any rate, I knew who they were searching for specifically. They were searching for me: The Dungeon Keeper. And as far as I'm concerned, I have no intention of backing down and actually letting this trio of warriors wander out of my Dungeon. They took several steps in my direction, while my warriors fanned out, following my telepathically given orders to creating a crescent formation with the points forward as we'd need to overwhelm them completely in order to keep casualties to the bare minimum. I was taken a back when they bowed to my, their long serpentine necks no doubt finding it a little bit difficult but they held the bow for several long seconds. It was at moments like those that I really treasure the encyclopedia of knowledge within my head, and I bowed in return to them, as deeply as they had bowed to me – which was relatively shallow considering that they were more powerful than anything else in my command, they had the right to do so, but I was not about to let that get to their heads.

Raising one hand, I let the words from the encyclopedia come from my lips, just letting them flow to avoid problems, "Greetings, and welcome to one of the Dungeons of the Black Flame. I am the Dungeon Keeper, Lord and Master of this domain. Whom do I address?"

One of the Dragons, the somewhat "average" sized one, stepped forward, locking his gaze with mine. The face bore a certain amount of pride, and the eyes betrayed the presence of an evil mind within that skull, as well as a great intelligence. His voice was deep and rough, sounding as if someone had taken sandpaper for vocal cords and added hints of a growl to almost every word he spoke, "Keeper Firestorm, it is an honor to stand before you in my true form, as it is for my brethren," he gestured to the other two Dragons standing close by, "Having served before, it would be our honor to renew our vows of service and allegiance to the Black Flame."

The smile upon my face definitely made my cheeks hurt, *and it was moments like this that I wished that I had a camera to take the picture of me, and a dragon, shaking hands – well claw and hand – before embracing him as a I would a brother, "My name is Firestorm."

He raised an eyebrow at that – well the expression upon his face would have been the equivalent, but he understood full well that Firestorm was not my true name, "I am Rhamidarigazz," the smile would have terrified women and small children considering the number of teeth that it showed, and the orange tinge that laced his teeth made it clear that there was fire in the belly of this particular beast. It's strange that considering I am human, the first friend – yes friend – that I would make in this world, where war and death is a way of life, as common and as accepted as the rising of the sun upon a new day, is a nine and a half foot tall, fire breathing, viciously clawed dragon. Even as we shook hands, I knew that the Dragons of the Black Flame would be those who end this land, dousing it in destructive hellfire, to consume all who would stand against me.

7


	8. Chapter 8: Bones for the Army

**Chapter 8:**

**Bones for the Army.**

Having three powerful warriors at your command is a blessing for any battlefield commander, but having three powerful warriors who have no enemy to fight and nothing to do in their free time, that possesses something of a problem. It's not me that they have a problem with, but it's plain to see that they are actually itching to do battle. The ferocity of my Dragons in combat left little doubt in my mind that they would be potent adversaries upon the battle field, but I could sense that there was something else they wanted, that they lacked and were craving – it was one of those issues that had escaped my notice, until I was approached about the absence of a Library. I found myself without a clue as to what he was talking about. The encyclopedia within my head is a rather strange one, in that it unlocks information and grants it to me when certain criteria have been met, but the fact that trying to gain information about a library met with a blank wall meant that the criteria was not met. The only thing the encyclopedia would tell me was that I need to somehow attract Warlocks before I would be able to actually build a Library and that, to put it mildly is a bloody nuisance.

It's also plain to me that they find me interesting because Keepers are bound in a spirit form and can never leave the Heart unless they possess the body of a minion. I guess that's what makes me so interesting. I am a Keeper with a physical form, who walks amongst his minions to train and spar with them in a "no-holds" barred fashion, where I've picked up more than a few training related injuries and also several scars. The scars serve as object lessons for me, and I think it is one of the main reasons that I have survived as long as I have upon my campaign trail. Personally, I think that Rhahimidarigazz and his brethren find me interesting because I'm not like other Keepers, who tend to live shut in lives, akin to some high minded ivory tower intellectual. Don't get me wrong, I do focus on the big picture, but I am a micromanaging control freak too. Big picture, small details, I try not to overlook anything, but there are always a few small details that slip through the cracks. And the occasional issue does slip by.

Fortunately, Rahmidarigazz or "Gazz" – with his permission because one does not want a thousand pounds of fire breathing killing machine to burp and accidentally immolate you – is the one in charge of the trio, for I would have a hard time dealing with Shinzon or Dethaelus who are more akin to muscle minded tank brains. He knows full well the limitations of a Keeper and the way that knowledge is preserved within this realm – I get the impression that he would be an excellent researcher if I can get him in to a library. Well, an excellent researcher and I have a pet project for a weapon that I want. But the problem will be actually getting the library to design it, and then a Workshop to construct such a powerful weapon.

But it was also Gazz that mentioned something to me that made me sit up and take notice. In his own words, there is a subtle something in the mana of the land, that highlights the presence of a place that is sacred to the Darkness, but he can't tell me more than that. Perhaps a place or an artifact within that is emanating a small tale sign of power. He knows that it is ancient, but that it is also very faint, indicating that it is either well contained and preserved, or that it is an artifact with little or no power left.

Now at this point, with three relatively powerful Dragons to lead any attack, eight newly arrived Demon Spawn and a plethora of more expendable warriors in the form of Giant Beetles, Flies and Spiders at my command, I felt that I could spare the manpower to send the trio and some support along to seek the source of this power. I felt that my remaining warriors and I would be able to hold off against any hero incursions – and there had yet to be one – until they returned, or we could just slaughter them and use their worthless corpses as fertilizer for my Hatchery.

Gazz claims that the signal comes from somewhere west of my Dungeon, which is a promising start in searching for this place. Unfortunately, according to the records available regarding this land, there was a hero fortress that also housed a gateway for the heroes, built long ago, but nothing to indicate whether it was still active or had fallen to the ravages of time. My walls are already fully reinforced and there is only one way in to the Heart Chamber of my dungeon: through the Training Room and both Lairs. Anybody who comes knocking on my door would be in for a very rude surprise. I didn't bother wasting any more time as I gave Gazz his marching orders, "Gazz, take your brethren, and four Demon Spawn. Seek out this place and recover the artifact within," I paused for a moment, creating a pair of Imps, "ensure that wherever you go, you claim the land."

He left immediately, taking his small entourage with him. The fact that the imps belong to me in mind, body and soul will help me keep an eye on him, and if necessary, I can always use the terrain to my advantage – If I control the land he walks upon, I can give him a great deal of hell to live through. But that is just one side of the equation. Most likely, he'll run into something, either heroes or the guardians of whatever that artifact as…. In either scenario, I would like him and his two fellows to return unscathed, even if it means losing the Demon Spawn. At this point the Dragons are my most valuable warriors and in this particular realm, also my most precious asset.

And while they kept themselves amused, I've got a task of my own to take care off… I need to figure out just who is leading the heroes from above so that I can kill him and take over this land. My Flies would have to handle the necessary reconnaissance to get that job done, but something tells me that its going to take them a lot of time snooping, which will definitely give me another headache.

Several days passed, at least, I think days and that's because I saw the sun rise and set through the power to possess my minions, and all this time, my flies have been busy gathering all the information that we need. It's not so much that we actually have to worry about taking the fight to him, as there is never any doubt that the heroes will come to us, for they always do and have done for countless years. The question that needs answering is that the man we are facing is actually one who has not only a sarcastic wit, but the blade to back it up… and about forty well trained warriors to act as his muscle. I can't wait to meet him so I can present him with the butcher's bill.

But when Gazz came through the outer walls of my domain with his Demon Spawn larger and definitely more powerful than when they had left, with only half the imps I had sent as well, I felt a momentary disappointment which was bordering on rage at his failure. He himself was uninjured, which meant that they had been able to crush whatever opposition they had encountered. It was then that I noticed the presence of six other creatures along with him, like nothing that I had ever encountered before. They were beings of magic, but magic that seemed to be bound to their shape and form, as I watched from the Dungeon Heart; I could also hear the sounds of bone creaking against bone, what sounded like nails against the tiled flagstone floor of my Dungeon. I had no idea what to expect but I certainly did not expect to see the group of Skeletal Warriors that walked in a star pattern. It was an odd sort of procession - and I'm guessing that Gazz has a slight flair for the dramatic, as he'd let the Demon Spawn and Imps lead the way, before the Skeletons, and finally, himself and his two brothers bringing up the rear. From the Dungeon Heart, I teleported to him, appearing in a flash of blue light with a green tint.

"Welcome home," I greeted him, before giving a faint nod in the direction of the Skeletal warriors, "and congratulations upon your success – you must have quite a tale to tell," I noted the presence of several new scars that decorated his scales – and he had quite a few from his demon spawn days in my service.

"Indeed, my Keeper. Indeed. I do have a tale to tell." His tone calm and respectful, but it did not hide the twinkle that was in his eye. The forms must be obeyed, especially to keep the lower life forms in place, but in private, we could drop the rigors of such formality that I found tiresome – even though it's a way of life to every warrior that walks in this realm. It took only a few minutes for the skeletons to get themselves settled in before Gazz and myself were cloistered within the Dungeon Heart, formalities dropped, with him curled up – how the heck could he be even remotely comfortable while sitting in a chair – opposite of me with a roaring fireplace and a drink glass in his claw and as he began his tale, he turned out to be quite the story teller…

I am Rhahimidarigazz. I am the leader of the Dragon pack that lives and serves the Black Flame and it's Keeper Firestorm. I am a warrior, and I live to serve. When I was charged with the task of recovering that what he sought, the artifact of power that made my nerves tingle with an unmistakable glee, I could not refuse for I live to serve, and to serve with honor.

I had a small group of warriors at my command for this particular quest, composed of myself, my two brothers, a pack of four demon spawn and a group of imps that were already tunneling west as I had directed. The path was easy and the soil relatively soft, allowing us to make great progress. I could feel the power of the object calling to me, demanding my presence, my full attention and its sheer untapped potential continued to lure me towards it, like a beacon of light in the darkest of nights and shadows, where one's own hand is invisible in front of one's own face. I adjusted our course slightly on several occasions, to ensure that we were taking the most direct path towards it. But our day and a half of good fortune and speedy progress was about to be interrupted.

When the imps suddenly found themselves standing in an already made corridor, I knew that our traditional, most hated of foes were close by. The path was fresh, having been carved recently, and so was the call of the mana leaking from the artifact. At that moment, that was not what worried me the most – it was the large number and pattern of foot falls that marred the soft earthen floor of this passage, the presence of heavy boot marks, criss-cross patterns of soles driven deep in to the ground: Dwarven miners, with Rouges moving along with them. Worst of all, was the presence of boot prints with a star mark upon the heel. The Elven Archers with their perfect, unfailing eyesight regardless of the lighting, making them the undisputed masters of archery.

Regardless of the risk that they posed, it was no doubt nothing more than an advanced scouting party – nothing too dangerous and I ordered our imps to press onward, using their tunnels to our advantage – so long as they lead in the right direction, we would have no reason to dig our own passages – and they did, but we soon found ourselves contending with not only evading the heroes, attempting to maintain a good pace, but also exhaustion. The imps were as always imps – fine and happy to be hard at work – for the rest of us, we would have to pause and rest, to recover our strength as well. Having no choice, I called a halt and as a group, we settled in to sleep. Having command of the imps in this area also meant that by extension, I had a full command of certain aspects of our passage, which included the torch brackets of Gulbrathain Fire that burned forever. I extinguished them with a thought, plunging our surroundings in to complete darkness.

Dwarven miners have excellent vision, almost as sharp as elves during the day and, like them, have even sharper vision in the dim light that often came with mining. But they were as blind as humans in the pitch black of the underground, where one could not see their own hand in front of their faces. The only threat to us would be the eyesight of the Elves – I had posted the imps to act as sentries as they are expendable and easy to replace with minimal expenditure of mana. It is preferable to loose one of them as opposed to any warrior with both combat and strategic value, regardless of how minimal that value may be. Plus, imps do not need to sleep.

We slept, soundly and peacefully for a couple of hours at least – I cannot give an exact measure of time but the Dungeon Heart to which I am tied beats and pulses at regular intervals, and the number of beats allowed me to calculate that at least a few hours, perhaps as many as four but at the very least three had passed, when I received a general alarm from one of the Imps guarding the way behind us: Heroes were approaching, and the Imp in question was smart enough to raise the alarm to every warrior within my group as opposed to just myself.

I could feel the urgency building around me as my warriors prepared for battle. I could hear a group of Demon Spawn raking their serrated adamantine claws against the stone walls, testing and ensuring the sharpness. Based on the Imp's report, the heroes would be upon us in under a minute, but they were making so much noise it would have been possible for one of those Elven Archers to shoot and hit the target in the dark. The perfect eyesight of Elven Archers is somewhat worrying, but to use it, it requires actual thought and consideration, they need to actively hunt for a target, before they let that arrow fly. In the words of an Elvish Weapon Master, "Empty the mind and seek the target." It is hard to do either with semi drunk dwarves singing at the top of their voices. In essence, the advantage of surprise was ours.

Time's passage continued unabated, and already I could hear them not far down the passage, coming closer to their doom. And we held our ground, waiting for them to come upon us, and onward they came, until they were right in our midst and then we struck from the shadows, the wrath of hell unleashed upon these heroes. A roar sent my warriors in to battle, and the Demon Spawn attacked, rending flesh and bone with their claws, while the cries of the wounded mixed in with human and elfin battle cries, an orchestra of noise compounded by the screech of spell and the roar of dragon fire.

Their paltry group was no match for our power. Of the ten heroes, four had been Dwarven Miners, two had been Rouges, and the rest had been Archers. Where the flames of me and my brothers failed to immolate the fools, the demon spawn dug in, feasting upon the still living flesh of the heroes to sate their unbridled blood lust on our still living, screaming foes. The song of battle is the sweet music of my life, as is the sound of the enemy dying at my claws and fire. It was not a battle but more of wholesale butchery as only one miner and one archer escaped the wrath of the Black Flame, fleeing like true cowards. They would no doubt report the demise of their fellows, and that would bring a response from the Lord of the Land – that is to be expected of course, especially since he will know full well that somebody or rather, something, has decided to take up residence beneath his domain.

With only minor scratches and bruises to my forces, we pressed onward, down the dust filled path, treading softly and lightly to avoid sending up clouds of chocking dust and smoke. The earthen path led us directly to what we sought. The Chamber, its door sealed by a locking spell as old as the struggle between light and dark itself. The locking spell upon the door would have been a powerful one during its early days, possibly defying even my abilities to open it. Fortunately, the passage of time had weakened its power *to the point where a single breath of fire was more than enough to dissipate the pathetically weak spell, melt the hinges and locks upon the door, before the iron reinforced wood simply crumbled and splintered to ash and dust.

One of my Demon Spawn stepped forward, brandishing a magic missile between his claws, and tossed it in to the room ahead, revealing it to be some kind of long abandoned and derelict training facility. The torches had burned out long before, hanging half off the walls, their metal frames rusting away,. The smell of damp, death, rot and decay were easy to discern. The cause of those smells was equally easy to discern as they lay brutally hacked to pieces, broken bodies and skeletons upon the floor.

As we crossed the threshold, the skeletons all around us sprang to life. Six of them, their eyes glowing with unnatural life – the life force of darkness and corruption and death, dark black orbs for eyes staring, as if they sought to drive the life from us with merely their gaze and not their weapons. When one of the skeletons turned towards me, and spoke, the sound of its voice like a cold wind whipping at your face, "The dead keep this place as they own. Only the dead may enter and leave here of free will. Leave now, or perish."

It was an unworthy thought, but I thought of turning and leaving. But I faced a grim prospect…. To fail my master would probably result in a fate worse than that which stood before me. It appeared to be waiting for me to speak; I spoke, "I am here, as a representative of the Dungeon of the Black Flame. My Keeper, Firestorm, wishes you and your brethren to join us."

"The dead… do not pay attention… to the demands of the…. Living." it replied, drawing a sword from its scarab while a shield appeared upon its other arm, "Leave now or join the ranks of the fallen who serve me."

I snarled in response and ducked low even as the pile of bones swung its blade at me, with brute strength, more so than actual skill. The imps fled through the gaps, heading as far away from the battle as they could, even as my own small army tore in to the skeletons with all the fury that they could muster. Even as the mass battle disintegrated to a series of solitary one on one melee or in a few cases, two on ones, it was plain to see that I had their leader swinging lustily with his sword.

I dealt with the impertinent skeleton king, ducking below yet another swipe, to unleash the fires of hell from within me. He was barely able to bring his shield to bear against the heat which caused the metal to warp slightly. A broadside sweep of my tail struck hard, breaking the shield which was proceeded by a gout of flame, wreathing the skeleton in fire. It snarled back at me, though it could have been a leer. I am still uncertain but as he charged me, his sword drawn back, high overhead, hissing at me, I launched another volley of flames that caught it directly in the face – to little effect and I made a note that skeletons have no flesh, and therefore do not have to fear fire as any other creature would have to.

It took several more minutes as we fought, back and forth, neither of us actually gaining an advantage as I intended. It was not an attempt to wear down the Skeleton King who fought without fear, but simply to lull him in to a false sense of security. I had already spied his weakness, and of his warriors, most had been reduced to a finely ground white powder. When it took another swipe at me, I sidestepped and lashed out with the nova spell, the ring of fire sudden and sufficient to knock the thing off balance. leaping off my feet and spinning in mid air to add even more momentum before allowing my tail to slam in to its chest, the spikes cresting the back of my tail break several of the bones, knocking in on to its bony spine.

Without hesitation, I slammed my foot into its chest, and I swept out striking the crown it wore from its head. The crown was what enhanced its strength and power and gave it control over the other skeletons close by. I have never seen a skeleton tremble with fear, but without its helm, it had no control. Slamming it against the wall, and then driving it in to the ground, face first, I then flipped it over and stamped on its chest, putting my full weight upon its rib cage, the bones groaning dangerously under the pressure. The skeletons knew their king was defeated. Without him to coordinate, they were only limited in effectiveness, unable to do much damage to any of my minions.

His choice was obvious, for even the most simplistic and mindless of creatures has no intention of meeting death – especially once already dead, and reduced to nothing more than a pile of walking, magically enchanted bone. A clear victory for my Keeper as the Skeleton King surrendered and swore his allegiance, and added his strength to that of the Black Flame.

Gazz's tale concluded, I sat back in the comfort of the Dungeon Heart, *as he completed his story. I nodded, and hee understood what I was saying. He uncoiled himself, leaving the Dungeon Heart and me to my thoughts.) Warlocks would be the key to getting the Library to make research a possibility. I would have to track down at least a single Warlock, and soon. The question was, at the time, exactly where to find one. I also had to consider the fact that the Lord of this Land would most definitely be coming round, and making an attempt to knock down my Dungeon. The heroes would certainly be aware of my presence, and I'd have to do something to keep them off balance, without compromising the security of my Dungeon…. Sacrificial troops would be of principal importance, and those skeletons should just fit the bill. I would have to arrange a meeting of sorts with the Leader of the Skeletons.

7


	9. Chapter 9: Search and Rescue

**Chapter 9:**

**Search and Rescue.**

I had to find those damned Warlocks – I'm not stupid because I know for sure that unless I could find those Warlocks that would allow me to develop a Library, there was no way I was going to go home. Never mind that my little posse of Dragons would wind up deserting me in favor of another keeper which would put me at a severely disadvantaged position, considering the strength of the Lord of the Land who seemed to have a ridiculous number of followers.

Scouts and extensive reconnaissance had proven to be virtually futile. It was after I had found myself considering what I would have to do to keep those Dragons loyal to me. But I found myself wondering whether the one piece of intelligence gathering through the use of magic, might have revealed my presence to those heroes living in the land above. There seemed to be a party of imprisoned Warlocks in the realm above, but I lacked the necessary warriors and support to actual mount a jail break to get them to safety, and add them to the ranks of my warriors. There were several different angles I could take, but I found myself becoming somewhat desperate as to what to do.

There are moments when I wonder which side I really was on, considering that God – don't ask me if its God the Holy and Almighty, or God the Unholy and Demonic – threw me one for a loop, as one of my imps sent a warning that was literally forced in my head, making me see stars for a minute. I almost wished that the damned thing had a volume control. It was an advance party of heroes, relatively small but there was something that was unique about it… something that just grabbed my attention. They were definitely an advance party, but there were too many of them to just be considered a recon-in-force. I noted the Imp was also injured, not severely but a glancing wound to one of its arms – no wonder it had been more than able to outrun the heroes chasing it. If that little three foot high brown and black colored midget makes it back to friendly territory I will make sure he makes it back safe.

Fortunately for me, heroes around here seem to lack intelligence in more ways than one, as not only did they run screaming holy warcry in pursuit of an Imp, a measly unimportant imp, but I could actually make out the words of the leader of this group, who was busy screaming that the party of Warlocks they had in custody where being moved to another Land and the control of another Lord, for interrogation and something about protecting the prisoners. Something that would, if they broke under torture, reveal information of useless value due to the fact that the previous Keeper that they had served was obviously no more.

Being a Keeper means that control and command of my minions is extremely easy. Now Gazz, to be perfectly fair, is not somebody that I just order around. We have a good working relationship with each other, and I like to think that it is based on respect for each other. And this was definitely one of those occasions where he would have been more than happy to follow my every lead. I sent him the images of what I had seen, and also the key detail: Warlocks. That detail actually made his tail twitch in unbelievable eagerness. I could actually hear him moving like he had never moved before as he made his way directly to the principal lair and began rousing my troops. I'd never seen such eagerness in him before, and I know why he wants them rescued so badly. To think that he wants to do work in the form of a rescue, so that he can do more work in a library – never thought that I would actually see the day that I would have so loyal a warrior at my command.

I grinned to myself as I had made certain spells available to Gazz as a rewards and incentive to bind him and his loyalty closer to me – damn hell the Black Flame Dungeon. I could afford to loose that, but I cannot afford to loose the loyalty of my troops. In an ideal world there would be no need for me to employ such subterfuge to bind a "friend," but in this place, I'd rather not take any chances at all, because one mistake would most certainly wind up costing me my life. Having such "friends" meant having someone I could trust to watch my back, and to politely inform me that besides rival keepers and Lords of the Land, when somebody else was looking to stick a knife or really big sword in my back.

We both teleported to the only entry point in my domain and reappeared just beyond the massive maze of tunnels that lead into my Dungeon proper. I'd yet to see a hero party successfully find its way to my dungeon complex and then live to tell the tale. Gazz was leading his rescued party of Skeleton Warriors, undead that radiated a serious malice that made every living creature around just a little bit twitchy with their trigger fingers or claws. The Insidious Six were walking bone with shields and sword, more than able to live up to their role of being a living wall that the enemy would beat their weapons against to no effect. Their nature, being composed of pure magic, means that physical blows do little harm to them.

I could recall the name of that Imp, Cepat for some reason, and had complete access o his memories. I'm just hoping he's NOT dead yet. He had been out of his way reinforcing walls to ensure the security of my dungeon, to avoid a potential breach in the walls that could allow the heroes easy access in to my domain. In this case, Cepat had heard the heroes moving around and curiosity had nearly gotten him killed. It's times like this that being evil is truly fun. I called to me the Keeper's Hand. The Keeper's Hand is a truly wonderful, evil little tool, as it allows me to transport my warriors to any where within my territory within a matter of seconds, faster, quicker and much smoother than any spell could possibly do, especially since there is no disorientation. Gazz knew full well that we would not only be mounting a rescue, but also trimming the number of warriors that this particular Lord of the Land has at his disposal – not that he seemed to have a shortage of them, considering the number of scouts, and raids that he had been carrying out since Gazz was discovered on his quest.

To make matters even easier, they were taking a direct route, traveling down a straight tunnel with no side passages or branches that would have given them a way to escape. The path that lead North West away from my territory and other Black Flame conquered lands, to the land of yet another, aggravatingly sunshine tarnished land. That path had only one branching that took it west, towards the old facility from which the Skeletons had been released from. Using the Hand, I whisked away Gazz and the Skeletons. They would form the anvil, and my Dragons, now numbering five in strength, along with three demon spawn and myself, would form the hammer, that would squish these irritatingly inbred heroes to a bloody pulp.

It took moments and the Keeper's Hand had my warriors in perfect position to strike. My Imps were already waiting to be dropped in to the battle zone, strictly to recover the Warlocks, who would either be bound, wounded or unconscious. Regardless, I found myself unwilling to have them in the fight, considering their undoubtedly weakened state. The heroes were quiet, almost too quiet, but while they made no more sounds than those coming from their wooden torches, it proved to be ample warning when they were but a corner away from my Anvil, and Gazz knew well enough that they were close when light began to spill at the limit of his sight, "Keeper, we have sighted the heroes and are prepared to engage. What are your orders Keeper?"

I could feel it within me. A hunger, a lust for battle, not for food or sex, but to shed blood, crush, kill and destroy my enemies who were arrayed before me. These so called "warriors of light" that pray and preach to each other and the cowering "people" all about their false gods and deities, who did not bow before the true power of the Dark Gods. It mattered not, as I gave my warriors leave to do what they do best, "Kill them all!"

Gazz held his position, letting them just turn the corner before unleashing a roar that echoed through the cavern, the signal to charge as his skeletons advanced eerily silent as they crashed in to the enemy line. They were barely able to brace themselves against the onslaught, as their first line of defenders were ground beneath the skeletal feet that thundered against the flagstone tiled ground of Black Flame controlled territory. Those few rouges and dwarves that survived the initial stampede were immolated, their armor turned to molten metal as their flesh dripped from their bones.

Having been struck once already, and nearly overwhelmed before they could muster a defensive line, the heroes recovered quickly, bringing their stronger Barbarian warriors forward, ending the charge and forcing the skeletons, still silent, to engage their heavier and stronger foes, using their agility to evade the blows that would grind bone to dust.

Fear has an interesting scent to it, part sweat and two parts something else, perhaps trousers stain. Hopefully, I would figure it out sometime, but it mattered little to me, even as I roared a challenge, the few Dragons with me releasing cones of flames that burned down the corridor, while my paired blades hacked and slashed through the ranks of the sword wielding Rouges, a predatory grin upon my face that sang the song of lust and battle. It was easy and, for a disconcerting moment that passed all too quickly, fun. A reverse spin let me avoid one amateurishly swung sword that I captured with ease on my own short blade, using my momentum to drive it in to the chest of one of his fellow Rouges, while my long blade followed through on the spin, easily parting the man's head from his shoulders, before kicking the headless corpse in to another rouge, blade aimed low, pushing it across to parry the heavy two handed war-hammer blow of a Barbarian.

It would only take me a few more minutes of distraction to allow my imps to retrieve the captured Warlocks. Suddenly, it dawned on me why I knew that name: Cepat, the leader of the imps in my Dungeon would be the one leading that little snatch and grab operation, right now, "Cepat: Retrieve my prize!"

Yeah – they are my prizes. Keeper's Law dictates clearly that the minions of a Keeper, if rescued by another, will have to serve their rescuer, unless they want to try their hands at a more persuasive venue – namely the Torture Chamber. It's a well known secret that Warlocks don't really like any kind of abuse, and that they tend to convert rather easily and willingly. In this case, it would be simple for them to turn since the Keeper they served had been crushed beneath the boot of the very heroes who now seek to crush Keeper of the Black Flame.

Dodging left helped me avoid the overhead blow which was clearly a cover for the two handed crosswise war hammer strike. It was easy to duck below the strike, rising with my blades crossed to cut through both wrists. He looked at me in shock for a moment, staring confusedly at the bloody stumps where his hands used to be attached, but only for several short seconds, as I drove my crossed blade in through his neck and then pulling back, leaving his head attached to the rest of him by the merest flap of flesh and skin.

By the barest of fractions, I was able to bring my blades to bear, deflecting the duet of magic missiles. A Fairy, a part of my mind noted almost absently. It's magic projectiles could have successfully gouged my eyes out, even as I felt the fast moving breeze that marked Cepat weaving between my legs, his haste spell more than ample to ensure that he would be able to out maneuver any blow or clumsily cast spell. And besides, heroes have always had a tendency to ignore the imps simply because they're always seen and heroes have always considered imps to not be worthy of anyone's attention. I pulled my left arm back and hurled my short sword, sending it spinning through the air, scything a path of destruction through her wings.

The little winged midget had no chance as my blade severed both its wings, reducing an eight foot wingspan to zero; it took her a few moments to register the fact that her once white angelic wings were reduced to useless stumps. They were her last thoughts as the bolts of lightning flew in from three different directions, melting her flesh from her bones before they turned to dust, leaving only a stain of dried blood and severed, bloody wings to have marked her existence. I ducked low, scooping up a handful of the soft, downy like feathers and pocketed them. Interesting souvenirs and a necessary reagent in certain spells and incantations. I barked for an imp to retrieve those wings and to harvest the feathers. Whichever Imp got those orders would have an easy few days, if it managed to recover the wings from the middle of this melee.

One of my Imps whisked around my ankles dragging a pair of Warlocks along with him at breakneck speed. A part of my mind told me that having your head bouncing off the ground, especially here with god knows what lying around, could have some very nasty side effects that could include winding up with a sword or an axe buried in your head. But for those poor unfortunate Warlocks, a quick death while still unconscious would be a much better fate than the contents of an enemy Torture Chamber and the inevitable execution that would follow after they cracked under pain that would have made any kind of death welcome.

Psychically, I barked the question at Cepat – it needed an answer to avoid problems. "Cepat! Where are my Warlocks?" It has always been easier for me to actually enter the mind of an imp to gather the information that I need. Unfortunately, that puts me in the less than enviable position of actually have to listen and hear their thoughts. That's never a fun thing to have to do, especially when you're in the midst of a wild melee with swords swinging and spells phasing the air around you. Cepat opened his mind to me, and I went directly for the thoughts and memories that held the information I sought. Unfortunately for me, getting there meant that I also had to go through a lot of irrelevant garbage. It's a speedy process that takes only a few seconds but still, reading the garbage in the mind of the simplistic creature….

"Hop to the left! Hop to the left Cepat, and watch out for that crazy Fairy casting spells everywhere! Why couldn't I get Gold Mining Duty or even Housekeeping duty? Instead I wind up getting stuck dodging swords that aim to impale me and spells that would vaporize me to rescue a bunch of Warlocks. I'm already dragging another two and that makes a total of six of these semi unconscious creatures."

"I'm an Imp and I do what I'm told, but it does not mean that I have to like the fact that I'm actually rescuing creatures that will either use me for target practice or to test out some new spell. Oh the Keeper doesn't know and even if he did know, I doubt that he would do anything about it, considering that I am beneath his notice, his word, his praise and most definitely his time. The heroes are one thing, but when every other creature, especially the lower and stupider ones like Flies and Beetles, decided that we would provide amusing entertainment in a game of catch. The Warlocks are worse still, when they decide they need to experiment test subject. Don't get me started on the Dark Mistresses - whenever they get bored, which has a habit of happening often – they'll work on refining their "play time techniques" which means us Imps wind up on the receiving end. And I am not one of those kinky Imps."

"Be that as it may, I am an Imp and where my Keeper leads me, to work or to battle, I will follow for I am born of the Keeper's magic and he can snuff me with but a snap of his fingers. And Death is not something that interests me. The Warlocks are all accounted for too. The Heroes had six of them and we have recovered six, and it's going to be a long tiring run back to the Dungeon, where I hope something has been arranged for these "temporary prisoners," to avoid things from getting ugly."

All of that drabble, just to learn that the six warlocks have been recovered and that they are speeding their way towards my Dungeon. It brings a warm smile to my face, I'd like to call it a paternal, or perhaps a "grandfatherly" smile as there is no need for further restraint. A mighty roar came from within me, exploding outward with a raw animalistic fury behind it, and it drove my warriors forward, tearing in to the shattered ranks of my enemies, the ferocity of our assault went up a notch, and the enemy now realized why we had forced them to battle. Now that we had what we wanted, death was here for them, brought forth in the claws of my warriors. In that instant, I could see it in the eyes of these worthless fools, and pathetic opponents, that their morale had been irreversibly shattered with it having no hope of recovery, especially since they had no champion, no leader amongst them.

The slaughter was fast and furious, leaving nothing behind but corpse fragments and a paltry trio that had thrown down their weapons while my minions had closed in upon them. My Dragon's had kept them pinned in place, and I could only smile as I strode forward as the Avatar of Death who had made his fair sacrifice to the Gods of Darkness this day, battle testing new swords that had performed admirably. I held my blades, the weapons that I had crafted from pure mana into actual weapons that I could wield, that I named somewhat affectionately, Sange and Yasha. The blood of close to a dozen foes had stained them red, and the blood had started to dry, giving the blades the appearance of bloody butcher knifes, especially since the serrated edges upon both still had chunks of flesh attached to them. These blades were effective at stabbing and parrying, but the serration along their edges meant that these did not cut, but did something more akin to tearing, and I was about to have a prime opportunity to demonstrate.

The trio had been stripped of their weapons and armor, and sat there, a pathetic excuse for humans, and an even more pathetic excuse as heroes. Where the rest of their so-called "brothers and sisters" had fought, bled, killed and then ultimately died, these three had, it seemed, dropped their weapons and surrendered without a fight the moment they realized that they were undone. Cowards. I hate heroes, but I hate cowardly heroes more than heroes, "It seems that the light has little to offer to anyone at all, if amongst its warriors are men and," I paused, searching for the word to describe the Fairy that sat rather dejectedly upon the ground with its wings wrapped around itself, "creatures, that have neither the stomach nor the courage for battle."

They say that in every group, irrespective of its size, that there is always one loud mouth who never ever knows when to keep his big mouth shut. The old maxim proved its worth as the Dwarf in the group rose to his feet, which still had him at a severe height disadvantage though I did not for a second doubt his courage as he addressed me, "No. I can't agree with you there, you walking daemon possessed meat sack! It took two of your Demon Spawn to bring me down, and take my axe from me – and they got lucky doin' it. Else I would have caved in the head of that ugly little brute instead of being stuck here with these two pathetic looser turncoats! And I would sooner die that serve you, hell spawn from the pit!"

The art of inflicting torment and pain is about knowing where to strike. "Never go for the head" so the saying goes, but to "always go for the heart." I figured that this loudmouth had no heart, but all of these heroes do have a tremendous sense of honor that causes more problems than it could possibly be worth for them. I drew my short blade and gave him a smile that promised pain, but not death. Fear flashed once in his eyes, and his sweat reeked of the same. But he had no idea of the depths of my cruelty. When I'd been more human, such a thing would have been anathema to me. But now I am the Keeper of the Black Flame, and I do have, as much as I may dislike it, a certain image to maintain if I am to stay Keeper of the Black Flame.

Two of my Dragon's closed in, each grabbing the arm of a Fairy and hoisting her off the ground where she had curled to a little white feather covered ball. She struggled, determined to break free, but only injuring herself as the talons that made up a Dragon's claw cut into her flesh. She saw my approach and was confused, knowing full well that she had said or done nothing to incur my wrath, and it's said that many keepers are not truly heartless monsters. That if we had been born in to the light, we would be counted amongst some of the greatest Generals the mortal realms above would have ever known.

I wasn't exactly born here, so it makes no difference to me. But I am a bastard.

The cuts were anything but quick and clean, the serrations upon my short sword were more than adequate to hack through the vulnerable joins that sprouted from just above her shoulder blades, and my strokes severed them, from feather tip to nerve and bone, nothing remained of the poor unfortunate soul's wings. Her cries ripped through the copper tainted air – the copper being the fresh blood of her dead comrades and it was not necessary to turn to see the look of shock and horror upon the Dwarf's face, but beneath that mask I could already see, and it clear that he would never break, never serve the dark no matter what tortures were inflicted upon him or anyone else for that matter.

She trembled, the poor little thing. Deprived of her wings also meant deprived of her powers, including the all important ones about healing wounds. I turned my gaze back to the arrogant little dwarf, "I could strike you down, but I'd rather you be forced to live with the consequences of your bold words!" I spun, low, sweeping some dead rouge's sword up – not like he needed it anymore - before running the length of the blade through the neck of the Fairy, severing her spine, effectively killing her. There was little blood, the sword having severed her head from her neck so neatly, even as her frame went limp, it took several more seconds before her lifeless body struck the ground, the blood just now beginning to flow, as if she was a flower that had just come in to bloom.

"I have a message for your master, the Lord of the Land. Tell him to bring his finest warriors. It will be interesting sport to see how long the rest of you last in true bloody combat." I motioned towards the two would be prisoners, dismissing their presence nonchalantly as my warriors gathered, awaiting the arrival of the Keeper's Hand to return us all home.

The Rouge and Dwarf turned and began to flee back the way that they had originally traveled, when I turned to one of my skeletal warriors, and asked the rather pointed question: "How many heroes does it take to deliver a message?"

I could feel and hear the laughter around me at that particular question, since we all knew the answer to that question: "One." The Rouge was just visible as a volley of spells arched down the length of the corridor and very cleanly severed his legs, one barrage of magic carving through the leg at the knee, the sound of breaking bone audible. He began to scream as the second volley amputated his left foot just above the ankle. He fell to the floor, flopping there for several long seconds, screeching in agony before the homing magical projectiles punched in to his spine shredding flesh and cracking bone. I turned to my warriors, "We move. They'll be back to fight in less than a day and we have our work cut out for us." At my signal, the Keeper Hand swept us up and back towards my Dungeon. It's good to be home again.

8


	10. Chapter 10: Research and Projects

Chapter 10: Research and Projects.

Unconscious for the most part, the Warlocks were carried back to my Dungeon by my ever reliable brigade of Imps, while the only conscious member of the rescued party was alert, walking several paces behind me. He was fully aware that he and his fellow researchers had just been rescued from an extremely gruesome fate, and while he processed that particular piece of information, I found myself doing an analysis of him. He looked, well, relatively human, something like the heroes in terms of height and build but it was the mouth that gave him away as being something else. His teeth were more like knives, all of them having been broken or perhaps sharpened or filed to razor like points. A massive creature that stood somewhat taller than me, but it was his stride that took up the most of my attention. You would expect a mountain to move with the strong, firm strides, but he took small, almost mincing steps, tiptoeing along as fast as he could to keep pace with myself and Gazz, and doing an admirable job in keeping up.

He was not one for ceremony and fanfare, something which I have always had a personal dislike for. Pomp and ceremony on certain occasions has its places and uses but for the most part, it does nothing but get in the way. His self-introduction was brief and to the point and made it clear that he was indebted to our Keeper and would be honored to serve, as would his fellow researchers – if any of them survived their ordeal thus far and rejoined us in the land of the living. Gazz wore a slightly bemused smile – or what passed for a smile when you've got a mouth filled with dagger like teeth and the ability to project a cone of flame that measures over seven feet in length and three meters at its widest point and gave me a look. I admit that I don't know many dragons, but he is indeed one that I do like, partly for the fact that he is dedicated to my cause, but also due to the fact that he has a dry caustic wit. Gazz provided plenty of reassurances that the Keeper was extremely interested in meeting him as soon as possible.

I should take a moment to clarify just how the Keeper's Hand actually works with regards to transporting, well, people and my warriors. It's not something along the lines of a magic carpet, but more akin to teleportation. Over short distances, especially within the confines of the Dungeon itself, the Hand is an instantaneous way of moving around and getting to places literally in the blink of an eye. For distances that extend beyond the boundaries of the Dungeon to the uncharted wastelands beyond, it takes somewhat more time. Simply put, the farther you intend to travel from the Dungeon Heart, provided that you are staying within the same land, the longer the trip takes. But cutting down several hours of traveling to mere minutes is still a great improvement. It's one of the advantages that the Darkness and Keepers possess that allows us to defend our underground empires which can stretch for miles in any direction without actually leaving a single land. And when you have multiple territories, the ability to move between them rapidly makes it very easy to keep them all pacified and under control as these heroes do not understand when to surrender, when they have been conquered and that their holy crusades and jihads have failed them. But I can also understand, and to a slight degree respect, such stubbornness and sheer gutsy determination. I would not know how to surrender and acknowledge defeat either.

With the Dungeon serving as my base of operations in any given land that I have conquered or am in the process of conquering, my imps are always hard at work. I make it a point to keep them working as there is truth to the old adage, that "an idle mind is the devil's workshop," and that "idle hands with an idle mind are the allies of the devil." Granted, my imps could not exactly get up to much in the way of mischief simply because most of them actually lack the necessary intelligence to get in to trouble. Most of my Imp population is smart enough to stay busy, carrying out the orders and tasks ordained by their Keeper. It is better than being left to the not so tender mercies of my various minions, who have been known, on occasion, to swat or eat an imp just to pass time.

Granted, with the quantity of work that I had my imps performing, I always made it a point to dust off whatever I could to help them. The primary gain in that regard had been the development of their minds – not too much, but just enough to allow them to use some of the mana latent within them to use a spell that quadrupled their movement rates, reflexes and all round dexterity. Granted its effects over the long term would culminate in exhaustion and eventual death but using it in short bursts would be unlikely. And besides, as Keeper, mana is one thing that I always have plenty off. That development was of course was not just mental. They had to be trained up to a certain "skill level" to ensure that they would not disintegrate when trying to use the spell. It was something that Gazz and I had been discussing before we had been interrupted with word of the Warlocks being transferred. I planned to get back to that as soon as possible. But first, we would have to secure this realm by butchering the Lord of the Land like a prized hog.

It would be nice if you could actually see these words in their original form, the words taking share upon the pages, my thoughts becoming words that you can read out there. I've not forgotten that this is a tale about me and my conquests. But you must also understand that since you're reading this, my conquest was less than successful, in that I never did conquer every land in this world. But I did manage to return home, else you would not be reading this. I can almost hear you wanting the answer to that particular question, which I will get to in good time.

Progressing through the rooms and passages of my domain, I shot Gazz a look, and he gave me the slightest of nods in return. Working with this particular creature is, admittedly, rather a pleasure. It reminds me of some of those TV series I used to watch, back when catching the next episode was an important thing. The image rather comical to me, as I was the Mafia Don with the slightest of gestures, facial expressions or hand signals, and that thing, whatever _that thing_ could possibly be, would be done personally by Gazz and I would have no reason to actually check if it had been done. Gazz, my right hand Dragon is also the one with the most to gain should I have an "accident." I trust him; I just don't trust him that much. Face it. Would you?

Gazz had led the now conscious group of Warlocks on a tour of the Dungeon, giving them a brief but very informative tour of the Dungeon in this realm, also passing through the principal assignments of my entire Imp brigade for the coming few hours. They were busy hacking through the rough rock and loamy earth to create the cavern that would soon become a massive Library for the use of these Warlocks. Unfortunately for me, I had yet to have a Prison available, for it would have been far simpler to toss them in there, let starvation do its magical tricks until they broke and joined me. Not having a prison meant having to actually be nice and charming for a little while. If they wanted to leave at this moment I would have one of them executed to make a point. If the rest of them still tried to leave, I would have them all massacred. If you are not working for me, then you are a part of my problem.

But I'm glad to say that Gazz has yet to fail me, as they were more than a little impressed with what they had seen of just this one Dungeon – which is but a mere outpost of my empire. Suffice to say that they were suitably impressed and took the few moments to commune with my Dungeon Heart. It was one of a few heartwarming and truly gratifying moments for me, watching them glow with a fiery red outline for just a few short seconds, before their robes, once trimmed subtly with white, took on the black and gold colors of my battle standard. When I emerged from the Dungeon Heart, somewhat cleaner than I was before, especially without the blood and entrails of numerous heroes decorating my weapons and also my clothes, the look upon the face of the Warlock leader was an interesting mix of disbelief, curiosity and confusion, coupled also with a look that bordered on lust to learn more about me.

Keepers are not supposed to have some form of physical body – and I am certain that my body is actually real and that it also works like any other form. Fortunately, one of the advantages of being Keeper is the gift of near instant regeneration after a short sojourn within the Dungeon Heart. The minor nicks, scrapes, bumps and bruises all fade away. I've yet to suffer any kind of injury that has proven to be disabling but I knew that I would actually feel one of those wounds in the, not to distant, future. Now one of my warriors, Drahuliska's mind was like an open book to me, currently running over some of the established facts regarding Keepers - namely the one that read: "When called and created by the Darkness, the Keeper is bound, an ethereal spirit confined to the Dungeon Heart, where they must remain, less their life essence dissipates and the death of the Dungeon follows. The Heart is the chamber the gives and binds a Keeper to serve in life, till death claims them."

The regular rules definitely do not apply to me. I gestured for him to enter the inner sanctum, where there were certain matters that had to be addressed. Gazz followed him close behind, the doorway fading back in to the side of the Heart Chamber. Gazz sank to the floor in his regular space, next to the fireplace and was curling his lengthy spine encrusted tail around him – no doubt to savor the warmth. I had found that by giving him these small and rather limited pleasures he worked better and fought harder for me. The interior of the Dungeon Heart is not actually all that large but simple magic had allowed me to distort the temporal plane within that allowed what on the outside appeared to be nothing more the a five foot by five foot heart shaped space to actually contain a very comfortable three and if I so decided, as many room space as I would like.

The puzzlement was almost enjoyable to watch, as Gazz reached out with a claw like hand to grasp his usual bottle from the rack of "privileges" that I had taken the liberty of liberating from the liquor collections of the lands that I had brought under my control. The liquors are no doubt some of the finest in this world. I refer to the rack as my private rack of plunders that is available, as a reward to those that earn the privilege. I nodded to Drahuliska and he took a moment, drawing upon the mana within the air to draw himself a chair that took a moment to hover in midair before levitating to the carpeted floor, landing with a gentle thud, before sliding to where he wanted. Finally satisfied with the placement of the chair, he sat down, nervousness and uncertainty showing in his eyes. It was clear that the gears in his mind were grinding for a solution but finding no traction.

I decided to let him stew for a few minutes, just to see whether he would break under pressure. I suppose you could call this an interview of sorts, to determine if the Inner Circle of the Black Flame would expand to include a Master Researcher. The chair seemed to mold itself to his shape and form and the encyclopedia within me opened for a moment, providing me with the incantation that would create a chair that conforms to the shape of the caster to ensure maximum comfort for him or her. I made a note to try that spell some time. It's true that you can do quite well without the bare necessities if you have the little luxuries. But he was done with the calculations in his head, and finally made eye contact with me, "Master Keeper, I thank you for your timely rescue of myself and my fellow researchers," his hesitation made it clear that he had something that he wanted to ask. I knew exactly what he wanted to ask, and I let him proceed with his question, "Clearly, you have quite a saga to tell, may I inquiry as to the nature of it?"

I chuckled, even as I raised my glass, and extended to him, "All that I know, I will tell you, but it is a longer," what was the word, "saga than many you might have heard."

He accepted the glass with small smile, "I have read some of the finest sagas in existence, and though long, the reading has always been most rewarding."

I nodded to Gazz and he proceeded to pour me another measure of my own personal favorite. It's expensive stuff, whatever the hell it is. I can't pronounce the name of it to save my life. The scene could have been something from a scripted comedy show, or the beginning of a really bad joke… two men walk into a bar, and the Dragon bartender turns around and says… you get the idea right?

"A tale for a tale however," I replied, "Guests before hosts after all." And people say I can't do nice. However, I wanted to hear a little bit about this the background of this new warrior. He was undoubtedly human, and a refugee from the lands above, one who had willingly turned to the Darkness. Every person has secrets and other matters that they would rather keep private, instead of have published for the entire world to know, and knowing the background of my soon to be Head Librarian and Master Researcher would be very useful.

"I was originally from the lands above. I was, in the eyes of that particular world, a no one, with neither the money to buy my way in that world, or from a family of the appropriate political standings to gain anything in life," his eyes were somewhat glazed, as he clearly relived the memories of his early and no doubt paltry hand to mouth existence, "I knew that I would amount to nothing and that there was no service nor deed that I could do that would give me the opportunity to escape the squalor that I lived in."

He raised his glass, letting the reflections from the fire dance in the deep amber green liquid before taking a short sip of it, obviously enjoying its texture, and no doubt the flavor of it. It was indeed a good substitute for my drink of choice – far smoother and definitely better in terms of taste and palatability, "A drink such as this, I would never have been able to even _stare_ at, because it would mean having to sneak to the parts of the city where the guards were armed, and authorized to "kill" should the situation warrant it." He sighed, as I shot Gazz a look, one eyebrow raised. He saw my expression and it communicated the question that he should ask, "What is the name of the land of your birth?"

"Sleepiburgh," was the quietly whispered reply. His voice strengthened as he continued, "I had parents and while life was hard, we were a family… a happy family that toiled from dusk to dawn in the simple harshness of the peasant way of life. We were happy, until one day the Royal Guards came to my home," he paused for yet another sip before he continued his tale, but it was with cold venom and hatred in his voice, "They came and they destroyed my family – murdered my mother when she tried to stop them from taking my father. My father was innocent of the crimes he was charged with. He stole none of the things or killed any of the people that they said he had. My mother already lying dead upon the floor, the sword having pierced her heart, as they knocked my father to ground, a foot resting upon his spine."As he looked up at me, smiling lightly despite the situation, the soldiers hacked his head from his shoulders."

I tapped my forefinger twice, and Gazz asked yet another question, "And they spared you?" the question had to be asked, if for no other reason to clarify the situation as to whether we have someone with mastery of the double cross.

"I was…in hiding beneath the bed in our simple home, but when they killed my family, they killed everything that was human within me," his hand had clenched around the glass, his grip, driven by rage and anger had turned his knuckles white, "Vengeance will be mine, and I will assist any and all who wish to overthrow those who live in the world above to gain my vengeance," the glass within his hand cracked and shattered, spraying the amber liquid around the room, several drops striking the hearth, causing the flames to leap for a moment, the shards of glass reflecting the anger within the fire, mirrored within the Warlock's soul, "Not just one, but all of them. I will have my revenge against them all!"

I smiled inside, Drahuliska would be very easy to control. So long as he had heroes and innocents to maim and kill he would more than happy to serve. I was still curious about his teeth, but I felt that was a minor detail, best overlooked. His honesty and candidacy deserved an equal amount of respect, as a sign of trust or more along the line of mutual respect. Trust is not something that you build easily in my line of work, but suffice to say that my story, when I told him was one that raised both the eyebrows upon the Warlock's forehead – from the details of my first arrival and conquest of Eversmile to the conquest of several other realms within this world. Drahuliska possessed a sharp mind, and his intelligence was unquestionable as he posed his first question, "You come from your own world and you seek a way to return home. And no doubt you have already tried negotiating with these so-called heroes?"

I nodded to him, "They don't want anything to do with me, apart from adding my head on a pike to the collection of the skulls on a pike that decorate the trophy rooms of more than one of these accursed Lords." The smile was simple and he was making a point that he knew that I had tried going within the boundaries of the law before going, for lack of a better phrase, outside the law to try and find a way home. I paused for a moment, acknowledged the quietly presented message – from an Imp - that the Library was nearing completion, "I have an extensive list of confiscated titles, tomes, scrolls and books that I believe you will have an interest in placing with the Library, in accordance with your specifications?"

His eyes widened, in almost unsurpassed delight at the thought of having the contents of so many different libraries, a vast store house of plundered knowledge available to him, and his cadre for their research – one of his key tasks would of course be researching a way for me to get home – but I'm not stupid enough to think that would be one of his top priorities. I will need to find the proper levers to motivate him directly for those ends, but that will come with time, "By your leave Keeper, I have a great deal of research and work to do, especially since the Library is nearing completion, and I would like to supervise the placement of your entire collection for the ease of myself and my cohorts."

"Indeed, but I have a special project for you and your fellow researchers to begin work on." He was clearly intrigued as I stood and drew my matching blades, Sange and Yasha, "As effective as swords are, I am wondering if it would be possible to create a weapon that could channel the explosive force of say, charged mana, in powdered form, down the length of the blade to increase the destructive potential of a sword."

He looked intrigued by the challenge that I had laid before him, "It would be theoretically possible, but the metallurgical skill required to construct such a weapon is beyond me, Master Keeper. You would require a workshop and the necessarily skilled warriors to aid in its construction."

I had suspected as much, "Begin your work with your cohorts, and for the time being, focus upon my weapon project. Design is key for now, manufacturing such a blade shall be my concern." I nodded to him, and with a thought, the Dungeon Heart's wall parted, revealing the outside world to him. He left without a shallow bow, robes whirling around him as he almost ran from the Heart: I swear that he was borderline salivating over what needed to be arranged and organized in his new library.

He had one foot out the door when I bound him to the service of the Black Flame, "Serve loyally, Master Researcher, and when the time comes the Lord of Sleepiburgh will be yours to do with as you wish." I did not need to see his face, but I saw the stiffening in his back and shoulders as I gave him my word, "The Keeper's Word, is the Keeper's bond, and thus it is law." I could not see his face but I knew that his loyalty was mine; I'll stick to my end of the bargain, so long as he sticks to his. Otherwise... well I'd have to stick something sharp and shiny in to him won't I?

For now, all I have to do is get my forces trained up and wait for the coming attack – not that they need much in the way of training considering the number of heroes they have recently butchered. Most of them are actually itching for another fight. The heroes would be coming for me, and the few of the Giant Flies that I still have in my employ were buzzing around with the sole purpose of acting as advanced warning for the incoming attacks.

The heroes were always determined to make a name for themselves as "heroes." They would not sit idly behind their fortifications and walls, waiting for me to come to them. Heroes being what they are, they would be out hunting me in short order, especially once word gets around that those Warlocks are now free to go on a rampage once again. That makes my job a whole lot easier, especially when the man I have to kill to conquer this land is actually amongst those massed ranks and sticks out like a sore thumb on account of some very highly polished armor, and also considering that he is the only man who I judge to be a worthy opponent that can wield a sword with any kind of efficiency.

I'm looking forward to this.

7


	11. Chapter 11: Researching, Empowering

**Chapter 11:**

**Researching Empowering Haste.**

As the Keeper of the Black Flame, I feel that happy troops are better to have due to them being more loyal. I do what I can to keep them happy, and whenever possible, I'm fair in my dealings. That doesn't mean that on occasion, I do not execute one of the lower life forms – it helps to keep the rest in place, and serves as a reminder that I'm usually quite "nice," in comparison to how I can be.

I walked towards the library but took my time doing so. I was in no particular rush, and when I finally arrived at the doorway to the Library, I found myself really wishing that I actually had a Workshop capable of manufacturing doors. It is not like me to simply walk in, especially into the Library that my master researcher currently occupied. It is necessary for a Keeper to maintain the loyalty of his army and by treating them as equal – well those who deserved it anyway. I need my army, and I need an army that can think and react, not just take orders and die effectively. It seemed that, as long as the Lord of the Land lives and until he is slain, there will be an unending tide of heroes that would rush in to the underground to destroy me and my warriors.

Entering the library, I ducked to avoid the flaming brands that gave what light there would in an otherwise dark, vampiric lair. Bookshelves lined the walls, from the floor to the ceiling, nearly overflowing with scrolls and tomes. Desks, shelves and even more bookcases were scattered throughout the room, some having more than their fair share of vials and glowing spheres. I joined my master researcher, who stood at the edge of a table, having just placed the final touches upon a scroll upon which the ink was still drying. I recognized the ink – I'd seen that form of ink in the encyclopedia within my mind: Magestain. It's difficult to manufacture and impossible to change, making it the ideal ink to be used for finalizing scrolls for confirmed spells that will work without any unexpected side effects.

When he saw my approach, he waved a hand over the scroll, which rolled up and flew in his hand. He took one step forward, and gave me a slight bow before handing me the scroll with both hands outstretched, "While finding a way for you to return to home has not been an easy to research, there is precious little information regarding dimensional gateways here. What my brethren and I have discovered, is a spell that we call "Haste." This spell will enhance the speed and reaction of any creature that it is cast upon, however, it can only be cast from your Dungeon Heart."

It has been two weeks since they have been freed and thus far, their research has paid off, for my dungeon and my warriors, but nothing has come to pass with regards to me trying to find a way home. I took the scroll, rather uncertain about what to do with it, but even as it landed in my palm, a part of the mental textbook in my mind unfolded, almost as if unlocking a hidden chapter within itself, explaining to me how the spell casting … system I suppose, that existed within the Dungeon Heart worked. I nodded, acknowledging Drahuliska and his brethrens' work. I nodded my gratitude to him, "How goes work upon that special weapons project of mine?"

"The design of your weapon, however esoteric it might be, is nearly complete. We are still having some minor difficulties attempting to strike a balance between the firearm component and the blade to ensure that the blade does not disintegrate when charged mana is passed down its length. We are in the process of testing several different mineral and elemental fuses, and we anticipate having something feasible in several days, perhaps one week's time."

"Excellent," he had a question however, and I gave him a slight nod.

"How did you come upon the idea for such a weapon Master Keeper? The concept has been debated before, in our annals and in those of the warriors of light, but few have been able to control such a weapon."

"I have skills with such a weapon from my own world. I had created something similar, and as such, it would not be difficult for me to use such a weapon again…. I actually miss… in a sense, having that weapon with me."

"But I was under the impression that your home world is nothing like this."

"It is not, but I carried it with me and trained with such a weapon for my own uses and purposes."

He understood that I was not going to answer any more questions, no matter how curious he might well be. He nodded his understanding of that, before I turned and left, eager to give this particular spell a try out. But I did not expect to get the chance to test it out in combat so quickly or so soon. Two weeks and thus far, there had been four relatively small raids, no more than a dozen heroes in any one raid. I had shown no mercy, butchering everyone who trespassed in my domain. However, there was something different about this particular raid. The alarms were suddenly tripped again. These heroes were not mindlessly exploring or wandering, but they knew exactly where they were going, and they were coming right towards me. Ah, that's what it is. The Lord of the Land, and he comes with every warrior that he has at his disposal. I can see them, trekking through the tunnels, and their strength is somewhat greater than mine.

As the alarm rang out, my minions moved to position with the rapidity and efficiency that I had come to expect from my warriors, and they were in their positions within moments, hiding within the small nooks and side passages that I had constructed, leading down the only true passage that lead in to my domain. The heroes were moving at full speed, desperately trying to cut down my flies that had baited these poor fools into the trap that would be their doom. They screeched in, war cry upon their lips while they charged. Their battle cries were drowned beneath the collective roar of my minions as they stormed forward from the hidden alcoves, fireballs, and meteor spells lancing outward, landing amongst them as a barrage of screaming red magic missiles follows up. A bestial wall of my warriors, moving with superhuman speed, collided with that of the heroes.

His archers were sending walls of arrows at my ranks. Most of the shots failed to connect accurately. Either that, or they just glanced off the thick carapace armor of my minions. Those lacking in armor, namely my own spellcasters, stood behind their shield spells or took cover where they could – their robes offer little protection.

My minions were trading damage for ground, slowly fading back towards the Dungeon as we winged and wounded, trimming down the number of heroes. Numerous Dwarves had been reduced to mangled corpses and their fire support line was running low on arrows. Many had discarded their bows, and had drawn swords and daggers, but had yet to wade into the fray. The pathetic cowards did not dare stand toe to toe with an enemy who could butcher them with ease.

The Keeper's Hand allowed me to move my warriors back, leaving the meat shield variety of warrior – the Beetle, Fly and Spider – to hold the line against the enemy, while my Dragons and Demon Spawn reformed their ranks farther back and closer to my Dungeon. At my signal those still engaged turned and fled in mock panic. Overconfident as I expected, the heroes broke ranks in their lust to collect trophies to mark their victory. The cohesion of his forces broken and his archers mostly without arrows, I grinned, and with the Keeper's Hand unleashed my Skeleton Warriors.

Skeletal warriors have to be shattered or crushed to be destroyed, and they don't stop fighting if a limb gets hacked off in combat. Range weapons, at best, chip away at their bony forms without doing any real harm. The cohesion of the heroes attack was gone, since their lighter scouts were pulled far ahead and the main body of their force was getting left behind. The archers came under brutal assault, bone swords slicing through the thin leather armor of the archers, while their shields absorbed what few arrows were loosened in their direction, as well as the pounding of blades.

The slaughter was quick and brutal, with only a few archers left of their massive numbers, the formerly deadly arrow barrages trimmed to nothing more than a nuisance.

Using the Keepers Hand, I dropped the full strength of my forces upon them, moments before I teleported from the Dungeon Heart to join the fray, my matched and deadly weapons already drawn and in hand, their blades glowing with their infused energies. It was a full scale slaughter, as the heroes found themselves surrounded and outnumber, my minions tearing through their ranks with unmatched haste - due to the power of the new spell that I had liberally employed. Claw and fang met steel sword and shield, only to have the latter splinter and break beneath the fury of the Dark Gods that my minions dealt out.

A single dwarf dared to challenge me, but his axe blows were slow and ineffective and I dodged, my blades working swiftly to first parry his axe, before cleaving through his arm, bone and all, before the other, short blade had punched into the side of his neck. The Dwarf gurgled and coughed blood on to me, before I swung him loose, kicking him headlong into the wall.

Drahuliska had turned the full fury of his magic upon the enemy as he literally spat Fireball and Meteor spells with one hand while casting a Healing and a Shield Charm upon a Demon Spawn fighting for any advantage against one of many sword wielding rouges. I remember when Gazz was a Demon Spawn, and stood only knee high to me, one of the largest that I had ever come face to face with. This Demon Spawn however was on the verge of the same transformation. The creature glowed a faint gold when suddenly a nova of energy exploded outwards from him. A ring of molten lava and fire that consumed the trio of rouges, leaving three charred corpses to fall upon my stone floor. It spiraled outwards growing in power and intensity as it circled outwards until six heroes had fallen and the Lord of the Land was sent flying through the air by the shockwave of the blast, the spell proving to be rather indiscriminate of its targets.

The remaining few heroes formed a circle around their temporarily stunned leader, and it was clear that they would defend him to the last. A barrage of scintillating magic composed of fireballs, red tinged magic missiles and meteor spells hammered the group. Their butchered forms joined the mangled corpses literally the floors with their shattered swords and broken dreams that marred my dungeon in such an unsightly fashion. But it does give the place a comfortable, lived in feeling. To you my dear reader, the variety of shades that dried and drying blood has is somewhat fascinating but at the same time, I'll spare you any further descriptions.

With the Lord of the Land standing, his blade covered in the ichors of several of my minions, my minions moved in, and while he slew several of my lesser minions, he was overwhelmed, brought down in short order, and restrained. The killing blow is always mine. I hefted the broadsword that he once wielded and promised him a quick death for he had fought with courage to stand against me. It was rather amusing to see him struggle against the grip of Drahuliska and Gazz, while he continued to glare daggers. How I quivered with fear. I swung his blade, and his head sprung like a jack in the box from his shoulders while blood fountained up from the stump of his neck.

This realm is mine and I add it to my empire of the Black Flame, letting it grow and prosper. The mortals above fear me, and soon they will hear the coming of the Black Flame. They will tremble, they will break and shatter, and they will all be mine. And perhaps somebody up there will know a thing or two about me getting home. Now considering the sordid tales of my conquests thus far, you didn't honestly think that nothing lived and that I converted vast tracts of land, acres upon acres, into nothing more than stinking sulfurous wastelands with swamps, bogs where forests and green once stood, with mindless uncontrollable and very hungry zombies wandering around do you?

Well fine…. Large tracts of land become what I just described, but there are a number of people that I do keep alive, living relatively normal and happy lives – I've fortunately had little problem in these very isolate and contained populations. Yes I keep them under a tight rein and they know full well that the moment they try anything, I will not just execute those responsible for causing trouble, but that their actions will lead to the deaths of the entire population. I'm a bastard, and I have never denied that I'm an son of a bitch, amongst some of the many names that I have been given by those living above.

I'm writing this, just so that you know exactly what happens when I take over a given Land. Sure, it gets corrupted – I can't deny that – and a large part of the population – alright fine about two thirds – fine three quarters – alright, alright … nine tenths of it – winds up either dead, or as slaves for experiments or to do whatever heavy lifting might be necessary– but the surviving one tenth of the population is composed of specialist people that I can use to my own purposes. When I say specialists, I mean those with skills – the masons, the craftsmen, the blacksmiths and the like. All of them, and of course, their families and loved ones tend to live, and live – where I can help it – better lives than before. Admittedly their lives are heavily controlled, but they have the riches, the wealth and almost anything that they could want, except freedom.

The various craftsmen are all responsible for different areas and, of course, different projects that I won't waste my time telling you about, simply because they are all works in progress and I don't need word about those projects ever leaking out. Suffice to say that most of them were either war related, or experiments to different ways of getting me home. The former had proven to be surprisingly successful. The latter had proven only one thing worthy of mention to me: That the only way home would be to carve a bloody trail, murder, kill, and plunder my guts out until I have the Avatar under the knife and get him to send me home. Why him? I don't rightly know. But that's is the direction that all the mystical evidence points me towards.

Those that live under my reign do live comfortably and do get to go about their lives comfortably. Admittedly those who do wind up on the receive end of a sword or spell blast have the annoying tendency of actually coming back to life as the undead – fortunately most of the time they come back as the lower level of the undead – in general as mindless hungry zombies that want to feed on the living. Its true that most Keepers prefer to spend most of their lives and time underground in one of their various domains, often times cloistered away in the Dungeon Heart. When on the campaign trail, I'm hardly foolish enough to venture out in to the open, above ground. While I still do look human, there are subtle changes in my appearance that I can't really put my finger on. I know my skin is definitely harder and rougher and has taken on a darker color, not a tan but as if something else is taking the place of my skin. It's rougher too, the texture like a very fine sand paper. The fact that my eyes don't seem to have *pupils anymore is also a clue that something is not quite right. I just wish that I knew what the fuck that is, especially when I sometimes look in the mirror and see what might be the beginnings of a burning flame in the center of my eyes.

Me? I come out of the darkness beneath once in while to enjoy some of the finer things in life. I'd heard that they made some particularly good food in this tavern, and I can't deny that it is rather good, especially since those damned Hatchery grown chickens don't taste like much of anything really. That is one of the reasons that I actually keep the Taverns open, their chefs and families all alive, not to mentioned those who run other "entertainment venues" – not porn shops, crack houses, strip bars and gang-bangs but more like the bars, strip bars and taverns, with their own fair selection of the appropriate "waitresses" to appease the new breeds of clientele. Even the most studious of my minions need to take some time off once in a while. The lives of subservient humans were different in some ways – instead of having the barkeep serving ale and beer; he was serving blood, bile and other fluids. Instead of Dwarves and Elves, he was serving Dragons and Warlocks. The barkeep's life went on, and the crucial changes were in his product line, and in the nature of his clientele.

Even as I sat there, the tavern master hurried over with a platter – the salted pork was particularly good as I sat there, eating my meal, staring at that unclaimed land to the North East. It was tempting me, calling me, laying down a challenge for me to attempt to try and conquer, another bastion and stronghold of the forces of all that is good and just in this world – there were already a lot fewer of them available.

Reaching in to the pocket of my robes, I pulled out my pipe and lit it almost absentmindedly, while I stared out the window into the distance, to those unspoiled, pristine and virgin territories. Interesting fact: I never smoked back home, but now I chain smoke like the worst of factory chimneys. Being a Keeper means immortality until the Dungeon Heart that I am currently tied to is crushed by the blow of an enchanted blade that is the Birthright of any Lord of the Land. Those Azurewrath Crystal Blades are the most dangerous weapons to a demon or a Demon Price for they can kill a demon permanently.

It had been a few quiet weeks, but I was itching. I can't sit still, I don't know how to. That Land mocks me by simply not being a part of my empire. The trail is going cold, and it's time to warm it back up, "Drahuliska! Rhahimidarigazz! We continue the campaign. Prepare my forces!"

Their responses were quick and precise, and around me the Tavern began to empty as several of my Dragons and Warlocks filled out to filter back in to the underground, barring the standard garrison detachments that I left to guard what is going to permanently be a part of my property and every growing empire from all would be usurpers. None who stand against the Black Flame will live, and their blood and skulls will be bountiful offerings to the Dark Gods.

6


	12. Chapter 12: A New Dungeon is Born

**Chapter 12**

**A New Dungeon is Born**

In the subterranean darkness, light does not exist. It is the pitch blackness of your nightmares, where you can't see your hand two inches in front of your face. The birth of a new Dungeon Heart is like the process of creation that began with the darkness before the Big Bang. All around, everything trembles and shakes as a miniscule speck of light comes in to being, absorbing soil and rock, vanishing everything it touches, completely erasing it from existence.

The vaporizing continues, until a massive ball of light takes the place of vanished soil while the cavern's walls begin to take shape at a distance from the glowing elemental nova. Solid flagstones appear in the ground, outlined in the poison green blue of mana, interlocking like a giant multi-ton jigsaw puzzle. A raised dais, none too high, grows out of the floor in the center of the chamber, four pillars of stone, one in each corner of the dais, rise until them slammed in to the ceiling, red and white fire fusing the pillars to the ceiling, magic creating archways to support the monumental weight of the ceiling overhead. The newly formed dais hisses and crackles as the contained pulsing energetic mass of black and gold sends tendrils of lightning out that caressed the dais for several moments, before coming to rest upon its surface. The light begins to pulse, slowly as if taking its first breath, morphing as black and blood red with streaks of golden yellow emerge. The three colors that compose the banner of the Black Flame.

The mana had infused the cavern, and the Dungeon Heart had been birthed in this new land. The deep steady throb was the Dungeon Heart itself, announcing its presence, as if sending a warning to the land above that death's shadows was moving towards them. Eight spheres blinked into existence around the Dungeon Heart at the eight points that formed the eight pointed star, the universal symbol of chaos, disorder and darkness. Lasting but a few short moments before imploding, a group of eight Imps, who landed lightly on their feet, and awaited further orders from their Dungeon Keeper. They stood only two feet high, perfectly proportioned apart from their somewhat oversized heads and equally oversized eyes. Their small brown bodies bore the mark of the Black Flame, burned into what passed for the flesh upon their shoulders.

From the formation of the dungeon heart to the present moment, when a Keeper can actually enter his new Dungeon Heart and gain a rough overview of what will soon be his or her – there are female Keepers, just very few of them – new province of an impressive empire takes less than an hour. And I was more than happy to teleport in this new Dungeon Heart. To be back upon the campaign trail at last. I could feel that hunger within me growing, not for food, but it had been far too long since I'd spilled the blood of my enemies and made an offering to the Dark Gods.

From the newly created Dungeon Heart I gathered a brief overview of the nearby terrain that provided much in the way of good news. There are extensive gold seams in the surrounding earth and a portal close by which, for the moment, would make expanding my Dungeon that much easier. But there was something extremely worrying and nearby to the south as spatial voids go for the mana concentrations in that space were rather high, "Cepat, Reinforce the south walls and then all other walls. As soon as possible begin mining out towards the Portal."

Cepat is the leader of the Imps, and wherever I go, he is always close at hand. He is one of the best Imps that I've ever had to work with, and I can't deny that I am rather fond of him as we go back quite a long way. His leadership skills were evident while he barked his orders and the Imps ran to their tasks, triggering their haste magic as they razed their way through the rock and earth, creating caverns and reinforcing the walls that also keep the ceiling from caving in. Their haste magic reduces the time their tasks take, and it took mere minutes before they had carved a passage to the Portal and claimed it.

Portals are nothing more than tears in time and space that can connect to other such portals, but also, according to the encyclopedia in my brain, a different dimensional plane, that which is referred to as the Immaterium. It's from this void that many of a Keeper's minions come from. It is the only way for a Keeper to recruit the necessary warriors that become their army. The first arrivals come within minutes of the Portal being linked to the Dungeon Heart in this realm. Drahuliska my Chief Librarian, and Rhahimidarigazz, the Dragon I would call my Aide-de-Camp, who is at the forefront of every battle with me. Fresh recruits for my army would be streaming through momentarily, the power of the Black Flame cannot be denied, and no unaligned warrior can ignore its call.

The Treasury was first up, and as the gold streamed into my Dungeon, the Lair, Hatchery and Training Room came in to existence and the Imps bustled from place to place, hard at work. With the basic of the basic necessities of a Dungeon in place, I gave my next order, to craft a library of massive proportions, if anything, larger than anything I had created before. After all, to attract the most loyal and powerful of minions, you must be prepared to cater to their needs and wants – at least a little. Work hard and serve me loyally, and you shall be rewarded. It is one of the golden rules that I run my Dungeons, and by extension my entire empire.

With my Inner Circle supervising various efforts around my small but prosperous Dungeon, I could do nothing more but await the fresh meat for the grinder. I'm hard on my forces and they respond accordingly. What I use as rewards, I'll get to that some other time. Demon Spawn clawed their way through the portal with skeletons close behind. Warlocks were somewhat more elusive, but the sheer size of the library in this realm with so many shelves stocked with tomes, book and scrolls, not to mention parts of the massive collections from the plundered libraries and towers of numerous wizards and mages from the conquered realms above, began working its magic, attracting first one, then a pair, and then they started arriving in groups of three or more. It was rather surprising to suddenly find myself with an abundance of researchers of vary skills and ability. Some were little more than expendable troops, but others were far more alluring and powerful.

It took me but a few moments to sort out all of the new arrivals. Most of them were immediately shipped of to the training room. For the most part, they would need to get a whole lot tougher before I would let them do anything else. Some of them knew extremely little and could be counted on to do nothing more than try to punch their opponent.

However, with my Inner Circle now present, curiosity did indeed get the better of me, so I left the Dungeon Heart and called them both to me. I wanted to explore that mystical source of power to the south – whatever the hell it was. I also took Cepat along, for I wanted him close at hand – if nothing else, he could be used as an expendable meat shield. Not to mention that someone had to dig through the earth to get to it. At this point, my teleportation skills were definitely up to scratch, and I could most definitely teleport between different areas of my domain, or even between my spaced out dungeons in different lands, as draining as that is. However, I have – yes I still do have – a sense of paranoia about teleporting into the heart of the unknown, especially when that unknown could land me amongst a mass of heroes, or even worse, I could wind up as part of a wall or other piece of furniture.

When we broke through a tile of earth, it opened up in to a narrow passage, and all three of us could feel the sudden presence of mana in the air. And the mana was concentrated, almost thick enough to cut it with a knife considering that our bodies, filled with mana and magical energy, were causing static like discharges to arc through the air as we moved. My twinned blades, Sange and Yasha, were already drawn, and wherever their enchanted metal moved to, there was a crackling against their enchanted surfaces.

Lighting a Gulbrathian torch – a torch that burns with everlasting fire, and uses mana for fuel – in a mana rich environment is not to be advised, as the volume of mana in the air would mean that we would ignite the air itself, and we would most likely wind up being barbecued to a crisp. Talk about the most pathetic of ends that a Keeper could have the sheer misfortune to suffer. But even without the benefit of light, I could see in the dark, my eyesight having grown accustomed to the gloom and dank beneath the surface. The pin pricks of light that seemed to dance upon the far wall caught my attention. We moved closer towards it, and those pin pricks of light grew brighter the closer I got, their shine taking on something similar to a gold seam that Keeper's have Imps mine for money. I heard the indrawn breath and I recognized the sound as being the sudden sharp breathing of both members of my Inner Circle, "hmmm?"

"Can that be?" the excitement in Drahuliska's voice was almost palpable, giving his deep hoarse tones a gravelly edge.

"Yes it is," came the almost boredom laced reply, "What did you expect it to be? A primordial ooze of ichors?"

"Gazz," I asked him, making it a point so that he would understand that I wasn't going to be too patient about this, "What is this," I wrestled within my head for a moment, trying to find the appropriate word, "thing?"

"Master," he replied, "It appeared to be a Gem Seam, but it is more commonly known as a Gemstone Vale."

"So that's what it is called," I muttered as I turned to face him. At the phrase "Gem Seam," the encyclopedia took over for the moment, giving me detailed information about the nature of such a thing, and what a wonderful thing it is.

Gazz ventured up close to it, and cast a blast of freezing cold that froze the rock and earth, capturing the Gem Seam in its passage. Staring at it intently for a moment, he raised a claw encrusted hand before tapping the sheen of ice. The ice cracked and splintered and the frozen earth shattered, leaving a seven meter expanse of glittering wall, laced with precious metals and minerals that stretched from floor to ceiling. He seemed satisfied with what he had uncovered, hissing his satisfaction, "It is a true Gemstone Vale Master, and its value is beyond any possible calculation, but I would estimate it to have anywhere between twenty five and thirty five million in gold. It is a glorious find for the Black Flame, and I would recommend the construction of …."

"… a treasure room and posting several imps here permanently," finished Drahuliska.

I nodded to them both, "Make it so." The idea was simply to keep them both guessing as to who should work on it and maintain a level of uneasy distrust between them both. Neither of them would act without keeping a very close watch upon their rival. If they don't trust each other fully, then they can't conspire against me.

I feel that this is the ideal place to drop in a comment or two regarding the nature of money in this world. As far as I know, the land above has its own currency and it is similar to what we use down here. Everything I do costs money, whether it is building a room, training my minions, or paying my minions to do their work. Money in my dungeon takes the form of gold, and whatever other precious gems and minerals. Gold is paid out in individual pieces that weight five grams a piece. Gems are obviously more valuable, but depending on what gem is under discussion, its gold value would vary greatly. When I say minerals, I mean minerals. Certain metals are valued more than others. The rarest of minerals such as Gromril is valued at almost fifteen thousand gold pieces per pound of purified mineral. To put things in to perspective for you, Adamantine is worth almost ten times as much per pound. So if you have that mineral in your backyard, you can retire.

Now, fortune has shinned upon me, and I have no idea just what the hell I did right to deserve this kind of luck. I'm not complaining, as I now have an unending supply of resources pouring into the coffers and treasury of my Dungeon, and my whole empire. For that matter I figured, what the hell, money was invented to be spent, so I sent it back to the other realms under my control to allow for the expansion and addition of numerous other facilities and chambers, to maintain them, and also upgrade as necessary. I'd play poker but I'm guessing that the game has either not been heard off and that my opponents, Warlocks and Dragons would probably spend a fair amount of the game calculating the odds and various other probabilities related to who has what cards and whether they can actually win. Nope. I'm not playing poker or any other game of chance. Besides, my minions would all let me win, simply because they would not want to piss off their Dungeon Keeper.

My Dungeon would grow and strengthen over the coming few days as I made liberal use of the various spells at my command to haste things along the way. Funnily enough, we were able to sit back behind a near unbreakable defense: a massive Lava river. It was more than sufficient to deter the enemy form trying to cross it and as it was, my Demon Spawn and Dragons have proven just how deadly they could be by crossing the lava and annihilating any opposition that they encountered. *One slaughtered patrol and two other ambushed and bloodied patrols. Sometimes even the "good guys" get lucky and escape because of the chaotic nature of battle. Personally, I think the cowards just run at the first spell. The heroes on the Northern bank of the river had withdrawn farther away from its banks, to put themselves out of the reach of my forces.

They are more than happy to stay on their side of the river and try to starve me out. Unfortunately for them, with the Gemstone Vale, I can hold until the end of time itself. Not that I want to. I have other matters that I need to attend to as soon as possible, and what tops that list is finding a way home. So far the efforts of my Librarians have failed to find anything that can be considered to be a reliable path to return me to my home world. I have arguably the finest collection of magic, lore, knowledge and history, and there seems to be nothing that can be of any help or use to me or my researchers. Sheer aggravation is the only way to describe this fiasco that is wearing down on my already short patience to the veritable snapping point.

Fortunately for all involved, they had been successfully enough to pinpoint two general routes that could be taken to get me home. The first would be the Portal that the Avatar has under his control in his own home land and capital of Skybird Thrill. The second way that I could get home would mean actually doing something for the Dark Gods, in exchange to get me sent home. As if I have not killed or slain enough for them. Specifically for Kharnax, the Lord of Battle, God of Blood and Skulls. But the problem is actually finding out what I need to get done to earn such a favor from the Dark Gods. For the moment, until I figure out how to gain such a "gift" from those Gods, I will have to just slaughter my way through every land and Lord and heroic fool that dares to stand against me.

I don't have enough forces to actually mount an assault through the lava river and I damned sure don't have a way of building a bridge across it either! I can teleport across the river with relative ease, but with only twelve Demon Spawn, half as many Dragons and three of the Giant Flies – and they're just about useless in any fight – it leaves me with just enough troops to either get myself killed, or with a victory that will leave my forces completely depleted, without hope of advancing along the campaign trail long enough for every single free land to eradicate their own Keeper related issues and then send their massed ranks under the command of that damnable Avatar in Skybird Trill to crush me in a single wave of righteous vengeance.

Another week passed and I was slowly, but steadily being driven completely insane with the fact that I was just sitting here, waiting for my forces to train themselves up. I had managed to double the ranks of my forces, taking even those most worthless Flies and actually spending money on training them, and training them well. My enemy here had actually planned ahead for dealing with potential incursions from Keepers like myself, as he had set himself up a very nice Dungeon of his own, spread throughout large tracts of the underground that could actually rival my own dungeon. Now that really grated upon my nerves. I had a strong enough force to assure me victory. All that I was still unsure about was whether my force could actually hold against possible enemy counterattacks. I would have to spend some time to maximize the strength and power of every single warrior that I can lay my hands on. I need them all in this realm.

The Dungeon had grown and was now, in spite of still being composed of mostly the basic rooms, rather impressive, especially with a large and still growing Treasury, multiple Lairs, and Hatcheries, two relatively centralized Training Rooms and a Library large enough to satisfy any researcher's thirst for knowledge. When Drahuliska and Gazz both requested my presence in the library, I made my way there to find out what was so urgent. Fortunately for me it was something that was about to break this mind numbing, brain dehydrating siege: The Workshop. The magical place where traps are designed, doors to separate the differing areas of my Dungeon could be manufactured, and other useful inventions could be created, key amongst these other little things would be the ability to manufacture a bridge – a relatively sturdy one that would let me lead my forces across the accursed river of lava to crush that damned Lord of the Land.

Moving with all possible haste, my Imps vaporized a massive area to create a workshop that easily rivals the size of the primary Lair in this Dungeon – and that is as large as the Warlock's library. I added on a Lair and a Hatchery so that my artificers would not have to travel too far to work. The room took shape, the reinforced walls finding themselves festooned with tool racks and shelves, while work benches and massive boilers came in to existence. An area towards the back of the Workshop shaped itself into a chemical laboratory, sealed off behind walls several feet thick with an equally stout door and glass windows where various noxious or explosive, or a combination of the two, could be concocted.

The effect of having such a large Workshop was similar to the effect of having such a large library that I built earlier on. The Portal began to attract something new, and different. Their mana signature was different and unique in comparison to anything else that I had attracted to my army thus far. I was becoming quite proficient with mana and magic, and could not only feel it but, in a sense, I was able to read the waves of mana emanating outwards. The energy wave that I had felt was that of a large boned, relatively tall creature that stand between seven and nine feet tall. Green skin, heavily covered with both warts and boils, and thick enough to pass for armor. A less than appealing appearance, but Trolls are master artificers and outstanding brawlers, especially with that massive warhammer slung casually over one shoulder.

I welcomed the new arrivals, let them commune momentarily with the Dungeon Heart, allowing them to take the necessary colors, and several minutes to get adjusted to their new "home," and then I ordered them all to the Training Room. Not that they needed much in the way of toughening up. What most of them lacked was combat skill for their brute strength did not mean that they could actually swing their weapon and kill whatever they swung those hammers at. No sense in having them swinging and connecting with nothing but air. Not to mention that this particular group of Trolls, straight out of the Immaterium, where some of the scrawniest that I'd come across – personally, I think that Drahuliska could beat all of them up, hand to hand, without casting a single spell.

With trolls in my Dungeon, and their training underway, it would only be a matter of time before I had some very impressive toys to play with. The thought of that just made me shiver with glee. The fun part would be leading heroes on a merry chase through a trap filled minefield of sorts. But that would have to wait, I can't afford to lose the forward momentum, and already I've lost a lot of that due to the fact that we've been stuck here for the past three weeks.

Fortunately, the extended amount of time here had lead to the development of an effective healing spell. The spell on its own is effective, but unfortunately, it's also not as fast as it could be. While it does heal as its name implies, I found that actually combining it with the Haste spell, the effectiveness was anywhere between doubled and tripled in terms of its overall effectiveness. I could actually keep my warriors in the fray longer without having to worry about the overall state of their health as much as I would normally have to. Haste and Healing, a powerful combination that would become very useful in the battle ahead.

Gazz, the right hand of the Black Flame's operations had also promised me an updated version of a spell that he had been working on for quite some time but that he was also having a great deal of difficult perfecting. Don't get me wrong, but as good a researcher as he is, and as loyal as he is, he can be finickier than a dozen Warlocks when he feels that he needs to get a spell perfectly right. Hopefully he'll get that spell perfected soon, because if I don't get the opportunity to kill soon, I'll do a very good impression of a Kharnax Berserker by killing anyone that crosses my path, whether they're minion or hero….

7


	13. Chapter 13: A Warlock's Life

**Chapter 13:**

**A Warlock's life.**

I am The Master Researcher, Chief Librarian of the Black Flame. I am the left hand of the Keeper. My name is Drahuliska. When my Keeper first approached me, in private in my quarters, I knew that it was for something rather unusual. I assumed that he had come to inquire as to whether I had made any actual progress in discovering the route that would return him to his home world. I have made some progress with that endeavor. I also presumed that he was curious as to the progress regarding his "special weapon". I was correct in both assumptions. But no calculated path had lead me to expect his third demand.

I believe that I have found the portal necessary to allow him to return to his own home world. It's the location which is the greatest problem: Skybird Trill, the homeland of the Avatar of the Heroes, who is Lord of all who reign above. I have to meet with my Keeper to explain this, as well as why it will be necessary to conquer every single land that rests between our present place and Skybird Trill. To put it simply, the surrounding lands of Skybird Thrill all contain the necessary artifacts of power to activate the dimensional gateway that can return The Keeper home. Furthermore, the Avatar himself holds the "key" that will unlock the portal and actually allow for the destination of the gateway to be set.

However, when my Keeper's third request was that he wanted an account of a "day in my life" within the Dungeon, I was somewhat taken aback, albeit momentarily. According to him, my contribution would be the first outside contribution to what he was calling the "Saga of the Black Flame," that would detail the exploits and accomplishments of him and his forces in detail. However to provide an accurate portrayal, not only must the grand and glorious conquests be recorded, but also the lesser considered aspects – the "back of house" operations in the form of the Workshops, Graveyards, the roles of the Imps and so forth. My contribution is to provide the view of a Researcher, and how the Library and its research facilities "fit" in the big picture. Suffice to say, I found myself to be a most willing and honored participant to pen a contribution to what would undoubtedly become a valuable text documenting the continued rise and success of the Black Flame.

In the lands that make up the empire of the Black Flame there is relatively little in the way of sun – little of it penetrates the massive banks of damp dark clouds that hang low over the land, and those clouds make the day seem like night and make the night become the darkness of your nightmares. Couple this lack of sunlight with the lack of any natural form of lighting so far beneath the surface, means that there is no regular biological rhythm that is of any use. Every minion has to adapt to this situation, and I am no exception to this rule.

Strangely enough, Keeper Firestorm runs our calculation of time and dates in a simplistic manner, following the calendar system of the realms above. He keeps every Dungeon constantly at work, whether in mock combat in the training room, within the quiet confines of the library, or even hammering away in the Workshop – the most recent addition to the long list of assets possessed by the Black Flame.

I awoke, as was my custom, after a restful nine to ten hours of relatively comfortable sleep, in my own personal Lair, just after dawn, the rising of the sun, to ensure that I would maximize my productivity and waste no time. The Keeper values his warriors, and as hard a task master as he is, one of the perks of being a member of the Inner Circle of the Black Flame, is that we get our own private Lair with attached Hatcheries all placed within close proximity to whatever suits us most. My personal quarters are but a few paces away from the Library of the Black Flame.

With this land being relatively secure due to the nature of its geography, the heroes were keeping their distance from us, staying upon the Northern banks of the river of fire, while we had tightened the grip of the Black Flame upon the South Bank. Such security and the presence of the Gem Seams in this Land makes it the jewel in the crown of the Empire. Those funds had not been squandered needlessly, as the Keeper had created a library and research facilities that are the equivalent of the Lost Libraries of Tal Rasha, destroyed during the first Great War between Dark and Light, eons before my existence.

Having one's own personal and private quarters, with attached Hatchery, is one of the special dispensations made by my Keeper, and I take full advantage of it. It allows me to avoid the aggravating squabbling that comes with having to live in the more communal living spaces of the Dungeon that is commonplace in the numerous Lairs scattered elsewhere within the Dungeon. Even in my private quarters, I can still hear the throbbing pulse that is the pulse of life and the existence of everyone within this Dungeon I reached for one of the potions that rested upon a shelf near the doorway to my quarters, popping the cork and downing its contents, and I found myself waking up as my mind came to life fully, the effects of the substance, something that my Keeper had discovered in the Lands above and enjoyed himself, kicking in. A substance that my Keeper had named "coffee," effective at awakening a not fully functional mind still cloudy due to the detritus of sleep. .

I reached inside my robes to draw out a small parchment book, of which there are only three in existence to date. The devices were crafted by Rhahimidarigazz and myself to ease the tasks of government and rule. The Keeper, Gazz, and myself possess one each. These small magical artifacts allow the Keeper to give orders without having to communicate them personally to us. It speeds up the already time consuming task of rule, and I have a personal preference for receiving my instructions in this matter as everything is recorded on paper, and as such, it easy for me to make note of what I have done and which of my Keeper's orders have still to be carried out.

I moved through the Library, nodding my typical "good morning" to Rhahimidarigazz who was busy clawing his way through a manuscript that he had sprawled out across the table in front of him. He nods in reply, a quiet gentle growl coming from the back of his throat. He has a complete distaste of any kind of interruption to his work, but he also understands the need for polite civility and respects it as such. The other Warlocks are not yet awake, and the few still at work looked as if they were ready to collapse into an exhausted slumber. Inefficient and incompetent are the only words to describe these young fools who do not understand how to pace themselves to prevent exhaustion. It matters little however, for they will learn or perish.

Stepping outside the silent area of the library, I press myself against the wall as a pair of Imps, Crickel and Nomed - the only left handed Imps in service to the Black Flame, make their way with all haste for the Gem Seam to continue the endless task of harvesting the precious ores. I opened the small, book like artifact with ease, every order written in the Keeper's scrawl – messy but still legible, and fortunately I had yet to actually consult him due to a failed attempt to decipher his writing. There were several matters for me to deal with during the coming day but nothing highlighted in red or gold, meaning that nothing of overriding importance that needed to be attended to. It would be a relatively peaceful day, barring a pestilent hero invasion. Not that they have tried as our hit and fade raids have carved through many of their small patrols. The heroes no longer dare to venture too close to the Northern Bank of the Lava River with the sentries ever vigilant and ever vicious to all who cross their path.

I cut across the Dungeon, using the map imprinted in my mind to take the fastest and most efficient route to the Workshop through one of the secondary Training Rooms, and tiptoeing through the mass of sleeping, and rather repugnant smelling Trolls – the fastest way does not necessarily mean the most satisfying to one with enhanced olfactory capabilities. I still don't understand how Trolls, or any other creature, can actually sleep with such noise so close by. The pounding hammers on metal, the quenching of metal, the sounds of thunderstorms in the making and Trolls are still capable of sleeping through it all.

Fortunately, the noisiest areas of the Workshop were not where I was supposed to meet Erk, the Head Troll in charge of all manufacturing operations. He was working within what passed for a chemical laboratory, which was poorly designed and very unsafe, especially when one considers that highly volatile substances are placed in an enclosed environment where there are numerous razor sharp objects and creatures with dullish minds and extremely short tempers. It is my belief that this combination could lead to a relatively entertaining catastrophe. Suffice to say that having one of these dull witted creatures – Erk - holding a phial of refined Sulfur, interspaced with chunks of Calcium, while adding a solution composed of two parts Hydrogen and one part Oxygen, is a textbook example of this recipe.

I waited and found my infinite store of patience being worn down, having waited for close to ten minutes while he continued to move at a rate averaging two thoughts per minute, with an absolute standard deviation of negative three that has an occurrence of one hundred percent. Frustration set in as I final rapped my knuckles against the glass pane that separated the crude chemical laboratory from the rest of the Workshop. The sudden shock shattered his overly fragile concentration as incompatible quantities of the two substances came into contact. The immediate chemical reaction was violent and it bubbled, frothed and slipped from his grasp.

The following few seconds passed in a form of hyper compressed speed although I was able to view everything as if happening in slow motion. The look of absolute horror that crossed Erk's face, before he dove directly towards the laboratory door with unnatural, acrobatic grace, rolled back to his feet and slammed the door shut behind him, quickly scampering away from the door. Erk had moved with astounding speed as the phial had yet to strike the floor, where I had noted the presence of a barrel of the explosive black powder used to keep the fires burning and next to that the barrel of fire igniters that started fires in the Workshop Foundries, resting next to a case of mana infused trap detonators.

I dropped to the ground, casting the shield charm with one hand, even as I cast a Barrier spell within my shield. Erk, for all his slow stupidity appeared to have an understanding of how to use time magic effectively, suddenly appearing next to me, howling at full volume, "Fire in the hell-hole!"

I noted the practiced ease with which every Troll stopped their activities, dropped whatever it was they were doing, and then slammed themselves to the floor, hands over their ears just milliseconds before the chain reaction occurred. The phial shattered against the powder barrel, and the addition of an explosive substance to the heat and energy from the exothermic reaction with the phial spilled over, detonating the barrel, sending burning, dagger like shards of coal the length and breadth of the laboratory before the fire igniters lived up to their name and ignited with the fury of a volcano. The entire reaction took several short seconds and the door of the chamber exploded off its hinges, flying with unmatched force and ferocity, scything through a trio of work benches and an unfortunate Troll, who was swept up the floor and plated skull first in to the wall, that cracked and buckled beneath the assault. The wall would repair itself as soon as the corpse was removed from it. Upon the heels of the flying steel door came the flame wave that roared out and over the heads of every flattened minion, burning the walls black while it disintegrated work benches, tool racks and everything else caught in its passage

In comparison to my brethren or even the tougher Dragons or their immature forms – Demon Spawn, Trolls are stupid creatures, but their innate regenerative abilities make them hard to injure and even harder to kill. Several left, grumbling as they smoldered from the heat, even as their burns began to heal. I suppose it can be termed the advantage of having little to no intelligence. If they lack intelligence, nature grants them the ability to heal and recover from the most grievous of wounds… why natural evolution would want such stupid creatures to continue to survive, however, is somewhat beyond my comprehension.

I knew I was going to be in trouble for all this. Trolls, however, do have an acceptable level of intelligence – though marginally so – as they need to know when to stop banging on something with a hammer because they have created a functional… something or other. Fortunately, it would take Erk quite a while to process that I was the cause of such an accident, and I would be upon my way well before that happened. I would actually have to speak to him about the necessary affairs that had brought me away from the peace and quiet of my Library.

Erk did not speak in any real sense of the term "speak" and what that implies. He looked around his domain with charcoal covered walls and soot all over the Workshop floor. The Imps would clean it up; have a lot of work to do, and very little time to do it. Still, even as he looked around at the mess, and grunted or rather growled at me, "You here to see trap?" He certainly looked none too happy at the four dark charcoal covered walls.

I could only sigh at the stupidity of this question, "Yes," and it gave me a headache simply trying to simplify my language to talk _down_ on his level, "Also here about Bridge for Lava River."

He growled at me as he reached up to a cupboard and pulled down a mass of wires, little tubes and nozzles. Erk claimed it to be pretty fine piece of work. That was all well and good, only that he had failed to elaborate on what exactly the massive tangle and jumble he was holding was, "What that thing?" My head began to throb in time to the rhythm set by the Dungeon Heart, "What thing do?"

"Me's a call this un … Stinky. Yep… Stinky. We make. Erk Make. Make bad smell, worse than Bile Demon … bad smell only stronger! And tubes hold gas. When heroes step this thingyz on floor, smelly gas cum out 'em little nozzys' and gas 'em. Good? No? Yes? No?" he grunted at me.

The idea actually is workable and I've seen it done. And while my headache was throbbing louder than the Dungeon Heart in my ears, I knew that at least he wasn't as stupid as some of the other trolls that I have had the misfortune to work with and heard about. The pounding in my head as I exited the workshop evolved from a headache in to a full blown migraine that left me holding my head in my hands. The trap showed promise, and it would be tested later on today – probably using an Imp or two as test dummies. I would have to report back to my Keeper on that afterwards, and I think that I would have to come up with a better name for it than "Stinky."

The small pads of hide bound parchment are actually useful in other ways as they allow me and Rhahimidarigazz to communicate with each other as well. When the message is of any kind of importance – from my Keeper – then the pad grows warm within its "pocket." But a message from the only other member of the Black Flame's Inner Circle means that it turns cold, which helps determine how important and how urgent the message requires a reply.

I sidestepped the passageway that would have lead me to Dungeon Heart as I retraced my steps by passing the Workshop and its adjacent, repugnant Lairs to return to the Library, where Rhahimidarigazz reported that he had something rather impressive to show me, a spell that he had, at last, perfected. Considering that he had spent the better part of six weeks tinkering and fine tuning with the spell's incantation to achieve what he considered to be the most "desirable outcome or effect," I was hoping for something outstanding at least, but amazing would be preferable. Rhahimidarigazz wanted an unbiased and objective evaluation of the spell's capabilities before presenting it to my Keeper for his personal evaluation.

While part of the Dungeon of the Black Fame in this land, the Library also has its own set of rules that must be followed by those who enter it. Entering, I walked almost on tiptoe, even though the heavy carpeting would muffle all but the heaviest of footfalls – perhaps those of a Bile Demon – thankfully they seldom make their presence know in any Library, though their scent was detectable from a fair distance. No spoken word went above a mumble within the confines of the stacked tomes of knowledge or within range of the work tables. It's hard to read when you have to tune out aberrant noise, and a single mistake when working with the only Ink that the Keeper allows to be used in his libraries has potentially catastrophic consequences – Magestain cannot be altered once it touches parchment, making whatever is written or mistakenly dotted, blotted or spilled also completely impossible to remove.

I feel that it is worth pointing out a salient piece of information regarding the system that ensures that the same collection of information is available to all, in any library of the Black Flame Empire simultaneously. The Libraries are all interconnected, using the same mana transference system that allows the mana to flow between the differing dungeons of the Black Flame. The mana flow that interconnects the Dungeons also allows for the Libraries to use a similar method of matter displacement to allow the knowledge and the tomes themselves to be in multiple locations and simultaneously employed by differing cadres of researchers. Of course, magic allows us to store a mind boggling quantity of information without having to be concerned with spatial considerations.

Upon the topic of researchers, the research that is conducted by the Black Flame in all of the different libraries is also linked in the same way, so long as the research materials and notes are updated and placed back upon the shelves accordingly. The transference system will keep the libraries and the research in all parts of the empire up to date and concurrent.

The library itself is divided into three key sections. The first section is the storehouse of knowledge in the form of scrolls, tomes and books that is the sum knowledge of the Black Flame which actually leads of in two separate areas. The second area is more of a general discussion area with a small laboratory for minor alchemical or potion brewing. The final area is more of a general practice and discussion area. Normally, conversations within the confines of the library do not go above a whisper, making it difficult to actually have a discussion or conversation. The last area of the library is where I am moving towards. This particular area rests behind a very powerful series of spells and incantations, including a wall of silence, reinforced by numerous Protection, Shell and Barrier charms.

Rhahimidarigazz, being typically himself, was rather excited by what he had achieved, but he masked it with his usual stoic air of absolute professionalism but there as a certain undertone in his voice that gave it away as he cleared his throat, "This particular spell will have to be selectively employed to ensure it has maximum effectiveness, for it places the targeted subjects in a state of bloodlust enhanced battle rage. Subjects become increasingly dangerous as you close upon them and become their most lethal in hand to hand combat where the rage renders them incapable of feeling the pain from any would be inflicted wounds," he paused, clearly enjoying his moments in the spotlight, "If it were to be employed upon expendable warriors composed of primarily the Giant Flies, Giant Beetles, Giant Spiders and, should the situation warrant it, those Skeleton Warriors - despite the fact they do not feel pain - its potential is near limitless."

He waved several Imps through the Library and amongst them I noted the presence of Cepat, the leader of the Imps, and raised a quizzical eyebrow at Rhahimidarigazz, "Does the Keeper know about this?"

His lack of a reply told me all that I needed to know, and any attempts I could have possibly made to forestall his casting of his pet project met with abject failure as he already roared the incantation. Its effects were as he described. The normally quiet, shy and docile Imps changed, suddenly becoming rabid beasts that foamed at the mouth actively seeking an opponent to spill their blood. The normal, calm and placid mana signatures within them turned to one of pure chaotic energy.

I found myself unable to resist the temptation; "Do you have any "volunteers" selected Rhahimidarigazz?"

The feral grin became even more pronounced as a pair of Giant Beetles wandered into the area, looking relatively confused as to what they were doing here. With a wave of a claw, he masked the normal mana signature that marked every creature of the Black Flame, giving them a temporary, random signal. Cepat and the other two imps attacked almost instantly, shredding the pair of Beetles who never even had the fraction of a chance to save themselves before they were cut to shreds, an orgy of blood and bodily fluids splattering across the walls as the pickaxes made short work of the Beetles and their armored carapaces. An impressive and powerful spell and the Keeper would no doubt be pleased.

"Impressive Rhahimidarigazz, you have outdone yourself," I murmured to him, "Anything else?"

The glint in his eye should have alerted me that something strange was about to happen. For all his seriousness and his studious nature, he either had a vicious streak, or an extremely immature but malicious sense of humor. Dismissing the Imps, he summoned one of the helms that once belonged to a now butchered Dwarf, and passed it to me, turning it upside down in the process to reveal its emptiness to me.

His feral grin widened as he murmured the incantation, "wohs em eht livna!" with a swish of his tail, the helm suddenly became far too heavy for me to carry, even with both arms, and it slid from my grasp, coming to rest upon the floor with a resounding crash that amplified the still present headache back to its previous, devastating, post Workshop migraine level of pain.

This particular spell was nothing more than a childish prank with virtually no application what-so-ever, and I drove my point home, even as I braced myself against the wall, my throbbing head giving me the impression that there actually were stars and static dancing before my eyes. I growled at Rhahimidarigazz, unable to help myself, staring him directly in the eyes, "Elohssa na era uoy!"

It was several minutes before I regained my footing, and felt that I would be able to make my way out of the Library without knocking over an entire bookcase. My head rang as if I had been on the receiving end of a full scale beating from a group of heroes that left both my left and right eyes stinging painfully, and they would no doubt swell before I retired to my Lair for the day – I would have to put up with the whole series of "spectacled warlock" jokes. Fortunately, my robes were only slightly singed around the edges, nothing too bad. I made a personal note to ensure that I have a Shield charm and Barrier spell at the ready whenever I have any future dealings with Rhahimidarigazz to ensure my own personal safety, for the size of the fists formed when he clenched his claws was far greater than I had anticipated to be possible.

Fortunately for me, my growling stomach made it clear to me what time of the day it was, and I knew that it was dinner time, and when one considers I'm not a breakfast or lunch person, it us understandable that I am hungry around dinner time. Any kind of breakfast has the unfortunate habit of sending me directly back to sleep and so does lunch, and it is a sleep that nothing short of a full alarm with Dungeon Breaches will get me out of bed. But for now, I need to get something to eat.

8


	14. Chapter 14: Bridging the Gap

**Chapter 14:**

**Bridging the Gap.**

Don't get me wrong. But having to sit around and wait because there is no way to cross that god damned river of molten rock to get at the heroes literally camping on its Northern Bank behind a massive defensive line was beginning to drive me absolutely insane. Even the nearing completion of the pet project on my weapons thanks to two extra weeks of doing nothing, and knowing I would be able to wield it in battle within a month, was a consolation of limited value. For the moment, with regards to weapons, I am content to wield the matching blades, Sange and Yasha.

In all fairness, the time had allowed us to create detailed plans of the enemy fortifications, as well as ways to break said fortifications, all rendered null due to lack of a suitable bridge to cross the river. The most appropriate words to describe some of the more ludicrous suggestions that had been attempted bordered along the lines of Troll stupidity. The best example would be our attempt to tunnel _beneath_ the aforementioned two hundred meter wide river of molten death. It took three attempts and a dozen Imps before we gave up on that idea.

When the "golden trio," composed of Gazz, Drahuliska and Erk showed up at my Dungeon Heart and claimed that they had solved the problem, I felt my blood, already raging, begin to boil. It had been far too long since I had killed something. The Blood Rage that the Dark God Kharnax had seen fit to bestow upon me did have this unfortunate minor side effect of me wanting to kill things and shed the blood of anyone and anything moving, but I digress.

Research in the Library had born fruit in the form of the necessary spells and incantations necessary to actually enchant the stone of the bridge and prevent the river from simply devouring it. The bridge also fit into a ridiculously small and lightweight package that would have to be deployed manually upon our side of the river, which would then expand in a bridge that would reach the northern bank of the river. Not to mention that the damned thing would be wide enough for a charge of eight warriors in full armor and still leave room to maneuver.

While it made fording the river much easier, it did not solve the problem of the enemy having a well designed defensive line with Elven Archers, who fired their bows with unnerving accuracy, rarely, if ever, missing a shot. There was a saying somewhere that, when you crossed the eyesight of an Elven Archer, you had best pray that your shield and hide are thick enough to withstand arrows. A charge across the bridge would leave me the corpses piled at one end, and me without an army. The fortifications of the heroes was a wall, almost ten feet, with towers at regular intervals along its entire length. And these were not square towers, but perfectly round ones. It is an established fact of siege warfare that when you knock out the corner of a square tower, the entire structure will come tumbling down. To take down these towers, you have to first capture the walls, and if that isn't bad enough, there are two such walls, spaced about fifteen meters apart with no bridges between the two of them. The first wall effectively acts as a funnel to turn that gap into one massive killing ground.

The only approach would be to assault the one and only way through the walls. The drawbridge had been raised for as long as we had been present in this land, and there was no doubt that there was a well constructed steel portcullis behind that bridge, and probably a set of doors as well. The only way in was as well defended as the rest of their defensive line. Fortunately for me and most unfortunately for them, I have an equalizer available to me… I will just have to make sure that, once my equalizer does his thing, I give him what he wants.

The equalizer in question could actually start and finish most of this battle single handed, but I know that I cannot meet such a price, and as such, I'm going to have to make do with the best that I can get, which, in this case, is extremely limited in this case. My enemy knows that there is only one place that our hammer can fall, and that is the gatehouse. But it is still possible to breach the walls at other points, and just to weaken the garrison at the gatehouse, decoy strikes will hit and fade along the length and breadth of their wall, forcing them to station men along the entire length.

The drawbridge, portcullis and doors would be obliterated, torn asunder and trampled underfoot by any means necessary before we slaughter those who stand against us and begin collecting prisoners. I'll need lots of prisoners. The power of the psychic link made dissemination of the battle plan simple and it was easy to understand for all of my warriors, which meant that we could strike before the sun sets on this day, for a red sun will rise on the morrow, marking the spilled blood of the heroes.

Throughout my dungeon, my warriors moved with the speed and precision that they knew I expected of them, to war and victory. For there is no defeat, there is only death. I won't lie to you dear reader, I knew that I was going to enjoy what fate had in store for the heroes of this land. And it would only be a matter of minutes before it fell upon them.

"Keeper, all of your forces are in position and awaiting further orders," the report was provided in the quiet, hushed and whispered tones that only a Warlock possesses. What I don't understand is why he was whispering to me, especially when he can talk to me normally via the psychic link between Keeper and minion, but I wasn't about to press the issue. My guess is that he does not want to give up the game to any of the enemy, especially the snipers sitting pretty behind cover, just waiting for a sound to give away a target.

"Understood. Gazz, strike and show no mercy!" I could not see the battles being fought farther down river, but I could hear the shouts and roars of beast and spells as the two decoy attack teams threw themselves into the fray, no doubt killing several of the heroes on guard duty. I could hear the shouts and calls from within the enemy's underground citadel, the yelling of orders and the heavy, crescendo of boots upon the stone floor as they marched to stem the tide of expendable warriors I had thrown at their walls. Let them slaughter those mindless beasts.

A wordless roar broke from the Dungeon Keeper, a roar that was echoed by the swollen ranks of his army behind as they charged forward, the enemy struck dumb for a moment at the sheer numbers of warriors that threw themselves towards the gatehouse. A shout from the wall, and arrows began to fall, many on target but stopped short by both magic and demonic hides that turned away the arrows with ease.

Charging forward, the Demon Spawn surrounded the Dungeon Keeper, akin to the waves of an ocean surging towards land, even as magic in numerous shapes and forms lanced out, smashing in the drawbridge, gouging away chunks of the heavy oaken wood to pierce the portcullis and doors behind it. A second barrage followed close on the heels of the first, and the drawbridge was blown off its hinges in a shower of burning wood and sparks, smoke roiling through the air, "Forward my Warriors! Kharnax demands their blood and skulls! Forward!"

The simple, diabolical threat, shouted and echoed within the confines of the cavern, echoing with skull numbing power as the voices of every warrior joined in the chant, surging forward like a tidal wave of death and carnage. The first wave had achieved its objective, the drawbridge and stout doors having been pulverized by the volume of magic directed at it, leaving the hot, burning frame of the portcullis, wrenched and warped out of shape but it still stood, barring the advance of the Black Flame. Through the dense smoke, the Keeper could see the enemy reorganizing, and runners being dispatched to call all the pathetic warriors of light to battle.

Let them all come. I have need of all the blood and skulls that I can collect in this slaughter of every warrior that the Lord has at his command. Those who do not fight such as the women and children, will be the most appropriate offerings when the time comes. Thus far, the Keeper had yet to do more than cast a flurry of spells, but the blades he carried, Sange and Yasha, trembled in their scabbards, eager to taste blood. His smile had a feral savagery to it as he unsheathed both blades and stepped towards the massive portcullis, already beyond crippled. With a single roar, he cut through the metal bands of the portcullis, causing the lower half of it to fall to the tiled stone floor with a clang louder than the fist of the God upon the gates of hell.

The gateway breached, the army of the Black Flame surged forward, cutting down the unfortunate defenders caught in the courtyard, as arrows rained down from the battlements, but to little effect. The magic employed by the Black Flame provided ample shielding from the devastation. A pair of shafts slammed into the Keeper, rocking him back a step. He growled as he waved the short blade in his left hand at the two archers who shrieked, fire exploding from their flesh to leave charred corpses upon the battlements.

He grunted at the pain but shrugged it off. Already he could feel his body healing both wounds. Ducking low, he swung his blades around him, a whirlwind of movement that ripped limbs and shattered shields and bodies alike. A single tortured roar, and he leaped the distance from the ground to the top of the first wall, smashing a group of clustered archers over the edge while his the larger heavier Sange slammed into the back of a Rouge, the point emerging from his chest, even as Yasha ran through another man's neck, an unstoppable titan of destruction.

"Where is your Lord?" he roared, even as he slew the last of the defenders in his immediate surroundings, "Where is the bastard who leads this pathetic rabble! I challenge him! Where is he?" There was no one who could answer the question posed, as the warriors of light were far too few and far too busy fighting with the desperation of possessed men to prolong their meager existences. Screams of agony and pain were intermingled with battle cries and the shouts of the victorious seeking another opponent. Arrows flew and spells sizzled through the air, creating the familiar smell of blood and sulfur.

The mentors of the Black Flame and the Trolls roared as they tore through the second portcullis, the Trolls heaving their massive war hammers in to the wooden door that was now the final line of protection that stood between the Black Flame and the interior of this dungeon. Already the Keeper could feel the pulse, the stead fast throbbing of the Dungeon Heart that ensured the existence of this Dungeon of Light, a bastard offspring of the true Dungeon Heart that is the soul and lifeblood of the Keepers. Keeper Firestorm marched through, his forces flowing around him intent on victory.

Not far from him, the Mentors of the Black Flame maintained a powerful barrier spell that successfully blocked the majority of the arrows launched in their direction, even though they were engaged in furious combat, back to back, claw and spell in a dazzling array of magic and skill that rendered the flesh of his enemies from their bones with magical barrages of fireballs, magic missiles and meteor spells in every direction.

Within the hour, the defensive walls were broken, littered with the corpses of the warriors of light who had attempted to defend it and gave their lives to the last to defend the only passage in to the heart of the Dungeon.

The sudden flux in mana and irregularities in the rhythm of the Dungeon heart were the only telltale signs, and they were sufficient to make it clear that the Lord of the Land, approached. The wispy white portals that connected the underground to the land above shimmered and glowed as massed ranks of heroes began to emerged, marching in full lockstep with their weapons drawn and at the ready, as their lord himself appeared, his heavy ornate plate mail armor shinning with its own internal light as he raised his massive blade, "For the Light! For Justice! For Honor! Send the foul spawns of the devil back to hell!"

The Black Flame had been bloodied, taking light losses, but they stood their ground, confident that this pestilent enemy could be crushed with ease. There was some laughter and derived cheers from the ranks, several making rude gestures at the marching heroes. But the laughter began to die away as the sheer number of warriors increased and then doubled. The net result being two to one odds against the Keeper. That equalizer would be needed, and rather urgently, "Mentors: prepare for the summoning!" growled the Keeper. He took a breath and shouted to his warriors, "Withdraw to the bridge and reform our lines!" While his troops streamed from the battlefield he grasped the arm of the passing Head Troll Erk. It took the Keeper a moment, for he found himself trying to talk down to the level of a Troll to issue his order "Block hole with ba-da-boom."

Erk's face broke in a massive smile, his tusk jutting up on either side of his somewhat elongated face. His thick hide was covered in blood, mostly that of his enemies but there were a few cuts and lacerations upon his body. Not that it mattered, for Trolls are difficult to kill due to their innate regeneration. Erk considered the order as he cast his critical and semi-professional eye over the broken walls and shattered gate structures and made a suggestion of his own, "Big holes in wall. Big ba-da-boom would be better!"

With the Keeper's approval Erk howled something to several other Trolls. It took them only seconds to assemble the devices that they carried and plant them beneath the archways that the heroes would have to pass through. Once the archways came down, they would have to climb over them, making them easy targets. It was done in seconds and a sharp momentary flash of light, followed by a hammer blast of wind totally sealed off the passages and left the defensive walls broken, crumbling ruins of their former majesty.

The reformed lines of the Black Flame waited in concert as the enemies battered themselves against the broken walls, crashing through while they swept forward with the ferocity of a river. The Black Flame saw the sheer number of the enemy being brought to bear, truly a case of three to one disadvantage. The eighty or so surviving warriors of the Black Flame knew that the bridge was the safest place to fight, for they could not be outflanked or out maneuvered, so long as the shields of the skeleton warriors held the line.

The lava river bubbled and popped, as if it was a living organism. The chanting of a Warlock and a Dragon could be heard, and the river seemed to grow ever more excited by their chant. Rising smoke from the river took the colors of the rainbow, seemingly twisting and turning, perhaps taking on the same demonic visage but none could be sure. The vile repulsive language of the demons echoed as the chant continued louder and more fervent, just as the heroes broke through the last barricade and advanced towards the ranks of the black and gold clad army. The white robes of the heroes whipped up when they increased their pace from a steady march to an assault charge, giving a single voice to the battle cry. The Black Flame stood their ground, awaiting the orders of the Keeper standing at the center of his battle line, the fire burning in his eyes mirrored by the fire burning in his soul.

5


	15. Chapter 15: The Demon and The Offerings

**Chapter 15:**

**The Demon and Offerings**

The enemy's massed ranks charged forward, spilling over and through their broken defensive walls, charging shoulder to shoulder with swords drawn, shouting curses and taunts at the forces of the Black Flame who were standing upon the bridge that had opened the assault into the territory of the heroes. The attackers were now the defenders, and they dug in their heels, mindful that the Keeper would execute anyone who attempted to flee. He marched up and down the line, shouting to his warriors, bloodied blades held in either hand until finally, he took his place at the center of the first line, glaring at the rapidly closing heroes, "Lock shields and prepare defenses!"

The enemy rushed forward, a mix of white robes, dull grey tunics, forest green vests, and fire red tunics, eagerly charging towards the lines of glimmering warriors. More warriors followed, rushing forward, these bearing shields and brandishing heavier weapon. A storm of color, a roaring and charging mass of nearly two hundred heroes against the eighty or ninety warrior of the Black Flame, heavily outnumbering them two to one.

"Brace!" Keeper Firestorm shouted as the enemy's supporting Fairies and Archers unleashed a deadly salvo that leaped towards the Black Flame's lines. The glowing projectiles clashed and shattered against the magic shields, the impact reverberating a deep, gong like sound, the shields flashing a multitude of colors as they absorbed and reflected the salvo.

Behind him, the ritual reached its zenith and suddenly, the Lava River exploded outwards and upwards, liquid fire raining back down. A portal with jagged, teeth like edges as if it was a mouth from hell, had suddenly opened, spewing chunks of molten rock and stone in the air. It was further accompanied by a burst of pure mana and the roar of demonic anger. Then, it rose out of the fiery gap, a massive entity composed of flame, wrath, chaos, and destruction, angered at having been summoned to the mortal realm… but then such a demon is always angry.

It's roar shook the bridge and surrounding ground like a sonic hammer, throwing the charging heroes off their feet. The bridge rippled and shook as stalactites came tumbling down from the cavern ceiling far overhead, like knives that shattered upon impact, sending stone splinters flying in every direction. Its feet slammed to the ground, sending another ripple of mana through the roiling river that lay behind the collected might of the Black Flame, the inner fire, reflected in his eyes, rivaling the raw destructive carnage of the mighty river.

The demon was huge, at least twice the nine foot height of the Master Researcher, and if he had flesh and bone that could be weighed, his mass would have come to several tons. He stood on thick, heavily muscled, dog-like legs, supporting a barrel chest that measured six feet across, just as heavily muscled as its legs. Raw strength and brutal power was clearly visible in his thick shoulders. Fingers and toes were tipped with black, adamantine claws and very likely indestructible. Large heavy wings that were joined mid-back were unfurled to their full span, almost fifteen feet across, and looked as if they were madeof leather wrapped chain. His hide a dark brown, streaked red and black as if cooked by the hell fires he resided within, a growling visage like that of a hell-spawned lion, blood spilling down from between its teeth. The massive demon looked down at Keeper Firestorm, and a deep growl resonated within its throat, the smell of burning tar and brimstone filled the air, "You dare summon me?"

With no trace of fear visible in his face or eyes, the Keeper advanced two steps closer to the massive beast, as the forces of his enemy drew ever closer, unleashing a second barrage, that again dissipated against the defenses he had set in place, "I dare to summon you Daemon. You serve the Dark God Kharnax, who created you. I call upon you for your aid against _that_!" Firestorm spat the last word as he pointed towards the still charging ranks of heroes. Firestorm stared into the jaundiced gold yellow eyes, ""I know you true name," he paused for a fraction of a second, before whispering, "Chirox."

The demon stiffened for a moment, "As the ancient rules dictate, so shall I serve," the Demon's anger grew, "But I do not serve you," it hissed the word, loading it with derision and hatred, "mortal, without a price!"

The Keeper gestured outward with a single hand, the charging ranks of the enemy now only tens meters away, "Smite them, and offerings shall be raised to honor you," he spoke casually, "Smite them and offerings shall be made to the God who is your father."

Both of the daemon's heavily muscled arms rose, as it gathered raw mana from the surrounding air, forming massive balls of magma from seemingly nothing and nowhere, before hurling both skyward. The massive projectiles broke apart, and suddenly, there were innumerable bolts of flaming metal death, streaking down the length of the entire bridge, ensuring that there was no safe place to hide from the demonic artillery barrage.

The daemons magic rained down akin to the most unmerciful kind of rain. Warriors who had been charging forward suddenly found themselves split from crotch to crown by the demonic fire. Those who sought shelter behind shields found them shattering, along with the bones in the arms. The orgy of decimation continued to fall, pulverizing the flesh of fairy, human, elf and even the flagstone ground with equal ease. The fire that struck the ground continued to burn, growing outward, seeking fuel as if it possessed an ancient, evil intelligence that used the flesh, armor and weapons of the heroes as that fuel. Cries of agony and screams of fear ripped through the air as morale collapsed and courage broke.

"Your will is done," hissed the demon, "Remember your oath to Kharnax! Remember your oath to me! The offerings!" The Keeper nodded and with that, the demon erupted into a black and golden fire that rapidly covered its entire form. The fire marred it from the sight of those present, especially the heroes struck dumb by the slaughter of nearly three quarters their number in a solitary pass. The raging flames faded but the demon had departed long before they had extinguished.

His bloodied blades still in his hands he stared at the ranks of dazed and broken heroes. The Lord of the Land stood his ground, injured and bloodied. He rallied his forces to him and began a headlong retreat into their own Dungeon. It started as a disciplined tactical retreat, but with a wordless roar from the Keeper, the heroes' retreat turned into a full rout, the Black Flame slamming into the disoriented heroes. Blood sprayed as several heads were separated from their accompanying bodies as Keeper Firestorm struck hard, severing heads with the larger and heavier sword Sange, while the lighter blade Yasha eviscerated another foe before arcing in an upward slash. The slaughter was fast and furious, blood staining his weapons and armor red from the slaughter The enemy's retreat faltered when the Lord of the Land was ploughed by the shoulder of the Keeper before he spun low, his reverse grip upon Sange allowing him to cut through the Lord from right hip to left hip, before completing the spin and Yasha punched through the helm and forehead of the Lord. He was dead before his lower half touched the floor, and with that, the battle seemed to stop, the heroes shocked and rendered incapable of battle, as if they had felt the death of their Lord within themselves. Around him, the warriors of the Black Flame pressed the advantage, butchering the heroes that stood and stared.

He cleared his throat, "Gazz, I want prisoners. Drahuliska," he paused and reconsidered, choosing his words carefully, "Erk, Destroy the enemy Dungeon Heart," He turned to Drahuliska, "With me. Preparations have to be made for the offerings to Kharnax and the Daemon."

The trio acknowledged their orders but Drahuliska questioned his, "How many offerings shall we prepare?"

"Spare the regular contingent of useful humans and their families. The rest shall be offered."

The warriors of the Black Flame stormed onward, and minutes later the explosion rocked the surroundings while walls began to crumbled, and the flag stones upon the floor faded away leaving only dirt behind. The collapse of the Dungeon Heart and all of its magic left the place a crumbling ruin. The portals that lead to the surface shimmered and wavered in the air, and they accepted the invitation, moving through them to arrive in the castle of the Lord of the Land. Through its windows and doors, the conquerors stormed outward, capturing all who crossed their path, killing those who resisted, while the Keeper and his Inner Circle moved to the highest point of the Castle to cast the Rising Dark to damn the land for an eternity, the sun forever cast out to allow darkness to reign as Keeper Firestorm arranged the cute pretty lives of the local inhabitants to suit his personal needs.

Two days had passed since the death of the Lord of the Land and the defeat of his army. Those forty eight hours had been more than enough time for the forces of the Black Flame, led by their Keeper, to decimate every major city in existence. The dark magics they had employed had corrupted and blighted the land and those who had sworn allegiance and loyalty had damned their souls.

Two days, and the massive city that was at the heart of the realm had become an outpost of chaos and carnage. Where the Black Flame once exercised restraint there was none here. Black oily smoke hung low over the shattered ruins of the land like a joyless carpet, fires smoldering and burning from spells. Barring a small area where certain humans had been spared on account of the skills they possessed, composed of primarily the trades and craftsmen, remained trapped within a cage of terror, and would remain so until the end of their days. The fortunate ones were those caged away, forced in to eternal servitude.

Others still slunk through the ruins of their home and city, desperately seeking food and water, where little to none could be found, seeking a weapon with which they could defend themselves with should they be found. No weapon existed, but these were the few humans, elves, dwarves or fairies that refused to surrender to the "mercy" of the Black Flame. It was only a matter of time before they would be killed or captured by one of the numerous patrols that roamed through the savage lands of what was once a peaceful nation.

The unfortunate ones were those who had been captured or surrendered to the Black Flame in a vain hope for mercy. They were no longer people, now reduced to mere cattle. The livestock were herded to a single camp where thousands of men and women waited, dressed in filthy rags, left to wallow in the mud, their only source of water being the tarnished rains that feel from blackened skies that hid the rays of the sun. These unfortunate soul were herded like livestock to camps where they all awaited their turn to be the offering.

The fear and terror that must have raced through those unfortunate people was incalculable. They could still smell the rich copper like smell of blood, still hear the sound of tearing flesh and dripping blood, the screams of inhuman pain and agony that were torn from the mouths of those whose "turn" had arrived. Elf, Dwarf, Fairy, male, female, or a child, it mattered not who you were, only that you were alive and that you were not of the Black Flame. It meant that your turn would come, and you would have to make your unwilling offering to the God that the Black Flame holds dear to its corrupted and twisted heart.

The Dragon mentor of the Black Flame, Gazz, stalked the length of the camp, staring in the cages searching for the next offering. The cages were more like livestock pens, using traditional wooden walls and gates to house the captives, magic ensuring that none could leave the enclosures unless the door was opened and the magical barrier neutralized. The pens were arranged in groups of fifty, and there were eight such groups. A total of four thousand individual offerings for the Dark God, and at any one time only ten offerings can be made. Drahuliska and Gazz had made certain to triple verify the necessary steps to avoid having their own souls cast in damnation.

Gazz, for all his attention to detail sought the perfect offering to continue the cycle, whereas Drahuliska was more interested in the functionality of the offering than in their perfection, for every single one of the captives met the predetermined criteria. It was the Keeper however, who found the next offering as he glanced in the first cage and nodded to the Troll guard, "Bring the Fairy to me, now!"

The field deactivated, the Troll opened the door and grabbed the Fairy by an arm, half pulling half dragging her from the cage before slinging her in to the muddied broken ground at the feet of the Dungeon Keeper. He bent over and gripped her arm, pulling her upright. She twisted and struggled in vain, trying to break free of the vice grip upon her arm, "You fear what is to come don't you little one? Why not try some of your magic?" he laughed, a cruel sound, "Of course. Without your wings, you are no Fairy - you are a mere mortal, with all of the same weaknesses that the human form possesses."

The eight different groups of cages formed the eight points of the Dark Star, the mark of the Dark Gods, and the sacrificial alters were all located in what would be the center of the massively constructed shape. It was her turn to make an offering to the God. The Keeper was eager to do so, as he dragged her carelessly when she refused to walk.

These alters had been set up in what used to be one of the many entertainment squares or venues that existed within what was once the capital city of this land, not that much of it remained. The great eight pointed icons stood tall, each almost twenty feet tall, and were surrounded by Warlocks and Dragons, all of whom were splattered with blood, both stale and fresh, even as the rite began again for the four hundred and thirty sixth time. He lifted her high overhead, dangling her by her arm even as she twisted in his grip. He could feel the fear, the terror screaming through her veins as she trembled, "Bothers of the Black Flame, I come, and bear a new offering for our God."

The scene is something from the depths of a nightmare, the butchered corpses scattered all around the ten alters, creating a macabre carpet of broken limbs and bodies. By magic, the mentors of the Black Flame appeared before her, the Dragon taking his time examining her, even as the Warlock, his robes covered in blood, spoke in a voice that was somehow still human, a gentle soothing rumble that made her sick to her stomach, "Impeccable timing Keeper, for one of the offerings just died," he gestured towards one of the alters, the sixth one in the row, which was being taken down, still with the corpse of a young male attached to it.

Her mind noted the cuts carved in to the body, the tortures that she realized would be done to her. What little courage she had left fled her as her sanity stood upon the edge of the abyss. She did the only thing she could do, even as she continually struggled to break free of the iron claw grip upon her upper arm. She screamed, long and loud, screamed in fear of the agony she would have to endure before death claimed her. Her eyes darted to the other alters where the icons still stood, their offerings attached with lengths of red rope. Her scream intensified as she gained a terrifying comprehension of what was to happen to her, all of her muscles go limp, and she trembles as she sees nothing but the eight-pointed icon that is to be her death.

It is an altar, a banner, a standard. And her body, flesh and blood, is to be the offering. The young man who preceded her had been young and muscular, with a mop of blonde hair, but he was now a lifeless corpse, lifted away from the lowered icon that was treated with unmatched reverence and respect, before he was flung away carelessly with lengths of red rope or perhaps chain trailing from the outstretched ankles, waists and wrists.

The quartet of Warlocks worked with smooth practiced efficiency, as the offering was tossed towards them. The Mentors caught her and held her down, even as knives shredded the flimsy robes she wore. Slowly, reverently, they carry her over to the icon. Even though she knew it was futile, she continued the struggle twisting and straining in their grip, the primal animal instinct for survival having taken over.

She was spread-eagled, a Warlock to a limb as the voices of the four Warlocks were joined by those of the two mentors and that of the Keeper himself, a cacophony of sound that echoed back to the cages where others awaited their turn, every word clearly enunciated, "Blood for the Chalice, Flesh for the Banquet Table, Skulls for the Tower and the Throne! We pledge this offering to Kharnax! Hear our call and accept our Offering to you!"

The dagger hefted by the Keeper sported a fine thin blade and he rested the blade against her skin seconds before her stomach exploded in a fiery cataclysm of pain accompanied by a river of blood. Something shifts within her, and she can feel it, wrapped around her intestines as pain courses through her with every heave of her muscles, unable to stop the spasms, terror, pain and the utter horror. A hand enters her view, dripping with red ropes that steamed.

"Tie her." The slick red ropes of her guts encircle her limbs, at the ankles, the knees, waist, shoulders and wrists, with a measure of skill, as the length of intestines are still attached to her, unbroken even after they have been used to bind her, a gross parody of modern art as her own bodily fluids, blood and biles drip and draw trails down her skin.

"Brand her." The dagger descends again, and her flesh becomes an explosive sea of volcanic pain, as the symbol of Kharnax, the bloody skull over a chalice is cut in to the flesh of her thighs and chest directly over her heart.

The preparations upon the alter complete, the Warlocks lift her upright, mounting the icon in its bracket, jolting with the force of a hammer, and there is nothing but excruciating agony and blood. Her voice broken, left unable to scream and find some release from her agony. It is a long time to her, every second stretching on for an infinity, but she could feel it, coldness, a blessed numbing of the pain that had flayed her taut nerves raw. Infinity to her had only been twenty minutes in reality.

Her life was fading and she knew that it would be a matter of minutes before she lost consciousness and slipped in the darkness from which she would never wake, but it would be at least another half hour before she would be replaced with another. So many offerings in this camp alone, and there were almost certainly other such places spread throughout the despoiled land and thousands more would die before the demons of the Black Flame would be appeased. But it was no concern of hers anymore. She was dying, and she knew and accepted her fate. She opened her eyes one final time, to find the Dungeon Keeper, Keeper Firestorm staring up at her, a sick, twisted and blatantly sadistic smile creasing his features, as he noted she was still conscious, "You are the strongest so far Fairy, many others had either lost their sanity or let the darkness claim them."

She glared daggers at him, even as her mouth worked, trying desperately to bring sound through cracked lips and broken teeth. He was amused by her suffering, "Your sacrifice shall feed Kharnax well."

He turned and walked away, even as Drahuliska and Gazz wrestled a large barbarian warriors, his hands bound behind his back, chains shackling his ankles forcing him to shuffle instead of walk. They frog marched their offering towards their Keeper, who cast his critical eye over their specimen, "Bothers of the Black Flame, I come, and bear a new offering for our God."

And the cycle would continue until there are none left.

7


	16. Chapter 16: A New Approach

**Chapter 16 :**

**A New Approach to an Age Old Art Form**

Hours, days, months and perhaps even years… I have no inkling of how long I have been upon the campaign trail, killing and slaying all who would stand against the forces of the Black Flame. I can't recall when it all began, but I know that it is still *on going.*(going on) I had found that strategies and tactics can be repeated with outstanding success against all of these Lords of the Land, and their accompanying retunes of pest like heroes. Within the lands of the Black Flame, there is no talk of rebellion or uprising or returning things to the "way they once were." I have taken the necessary steps to ensure that. However, my upcoming opponent was something different altogether.

By some bizarre twist, the Land of "Lush Meadow-on-Down" had already been taken over by a fellow Dungeon Keeper, who had overrun the former Lord of the Land in a series of blitzkrieg assaults. The land was nothing like its former picture postcard rural paradise with blue skies, green fields, and calm tranquility. This particular Keeper was aligned to the Green Darkness and lead by a Keeper who was worthy of some limited recognition, considering that she had succeeded in conquering a solitary land. It does not seem like much of an accomplishment, but when one considers that, apart from myself, there are two – three counting her – other Dungeon Keepers who have been successful in their attempts to take over this world. Thus far, my successes have been far greater.

With four Dungeon Hearts, my power is greater than many of the other Dungeon Keepers who seek world conquest. I will have to face them all in turn and crush them all in turn. Total victory would be the only way to ensure that I could find a way to go home. But for the moment, this new opponent of mine, from the Green Darkness, was due some respect for a woman had proven herself and earned one hell of a reputation by crushing a foe that had outnumbered her nearly two to one. Considering that she scorned the title of Keeper – as in Dungeon Keeper – and went by a name alone, "Feral," she was very interesting to say the least. I admit that I am perhaps a little overly sadistic but I knew that nothing would give me more pleasure than to stand toe to toe with this Keeper, so that I could grind, break and shatter her, before killing her and adding this despoiled place to my empire.

Where my tactics and strategies were all based upon the premise that I would be battling over zealous, somewhat religiously fanatical warriors of the light, a part at the back of my mind, the locked vault of encyclopedic knowledge, had actually told me long before hand that I would face off against numerous other keepers in my passage before I could return home, to my world. I still want to go home, but things would be different by the time I get there. I still however, wondered at why this locked vault only unlocked itself at selected moments to provide snippets of information that I could then revisit at any time of my choosing.

It was at this moment that I felt that vault of knowledge in my head unlock as it granted me access to information, precious information, regarding the finer points of combat between rival Dungeon Keepers. The only way to truly and utterly defeat such an enemy would be to destroy every Dungeon Heart that they possess. A simple enough task considering that she only had one Dungeon Heart for me to contend with. But before I can actually get to fighting, I need to sneak in, build my Dungeon, and expand my army.

In line with these simple basics of stealth to ensure that I could actually get established as quickly as possible, without alerting the my foe to my arrival, I decided to go outside of the proverbial and do the unexpected, unorthodox thing. My Imps will have a lot of work to do, and so does my Workshop for that matter. We will tunnel our way into this the dominated Land that belongs to this "Feral," and I'll have all of the mining and whatever preconstruction work that can be done, done. The Dungeon Heart gets teleported in, and the rooms can immediately be constructed, allowing for the rapid recruitment of fresh warriors to my ranks. This way, I assure myself a relatively large standing force within days of my arrival, limiting the amount of time that I spend exposed and unprotected to my enemies.

I would simply prefer to march in to her land, banners flying, announcing my presence with my army, simply slaughter all of her warriors and take over whatever she possesses. It would be the simple, direct approach but the problem is that I would find it difficult to find warriors and minions willing to work with that strategy – barring the most mercenary of fighters, meaning humans who fought for coin. And recruiting them would prove to be more than a little bit difficult all things considered- I find it to be an amusing paradox that many humans who are swords for hire, who will work for humans who have nothing but dark and evil designs for their fellow man will not work for something or someone, who has equally dark and diabolical designs for all of mankind.

The mindset of all of any minions is that they want to know that they are actually in the employ of a Keeper who can fight, win and prevail against almost any odds. Most minions, once they start in a single land, will not willingly move from that one land unless a hefty cash bonus is delivered – note that promises are insufficient to get the job done – to them in person. If I can't create a Dungeon that can rival that of my enemy, then I am not worthy of holding the mantle of Dungeon Keeper, and as such, creatures will avoid me as if the Gods of Light had a personal vendetta against me, leaving me a Keeper without an army and guaranteeing my death.

Time for my Imps to get to work, and even with that haste spells, Hastaga, working for me, it would take several days, perhaps a week to get all of the work I want done. Then and only then, will I move in to create a new Dungeon Heart to power my Dungeon within the boundaries of Lush-Meadow-On-Down. Just as well, *for that special weapon project comes to fruition soon. As powerful as my current blades are, and as potent as my magic is, there must be a way to develop a weapon far more powerful for someone – like a powerful Keeper, such as myself – to wield than a pair of enchanted swords. They had served me well, and I had no intention of making any attempts to "improve" upon them, but I can't deny that I wanted a new toy to play with.

Imps began to tear their way through the loose, soft earth, their arms swinging in a blur while they hacked their way through with savage force. It would take them only a few days to break through the territorial boundary between my empire and the edge of Feral's would be empire, and it would undoubtedly be a few more days before the rest of the pre-construction work in the other realm would be finished, hence giving me a few days to develop that new toy of mine, and perhaps finish a few other side projects that have been works in progress for far too long.

My original estimate was overly optimistic, and it showed as it took almost five days to tunnel our way in to Lush-Meadow-On-Down, and a further three days to complete the pre-construction work as I had laid out the blueprints for in my mind. But it was worthwhile, as I managed to complete two of the projects that I had been working on for some time. My new toy was ready, and I was more than a touch eager to "field test" it, along with the Troll Special Project.

But first things first, for I was waiting for the formation of the Dungeon Heart to complete itself, and it had been several long, slow, mind-numbingly dull hours waiting for the Dungeon Heart to take shape and form, but my waiting was almost over and it would be only minutes now as the last of the super-nova like blast of light faded into the darkness and shadows of the underground. It was sudden but the sound was refreshing, as the Dungeon Heart began to pulse, the first pulse of life, a new beginning, somewhat erratic, like a drummer out of tune to the rest of the band, before it found and settled upon its deep, rhythmic pulse, breathing life as the walls reinforced themselves, the flagstones cracked through the rough, slightly moist and damp ground underfoot. It was a massive expenditure in mana and resources as over a dozen different rooms and facilities came into place. Multiple Lairs with easy access to Training Rooms and Hatcheries, with one of each room close to a given facility. The Workshop was close to the Dungeon Heart, where as the Library was in a more isolated and quieter location to provide the necessary tranquility necessary for research.

Financial problems were not something that overly concerned me, because of the discovery of yet another Gemstone Vale. I found that I could easily expand even further and that, for the time being at least, the only limitations to the expansion of my Domain here in this land are Feral's forces upon the Northern – yes you guessed it – Bank of the same damned Lava River that held me up beforehand, and my imagination. Eventually, I knew I would run out of usable space for construction as well. Face it people, underground real estate, while not in high demand, is still bound by a finite capacity. The Gemstone Vales that I now had were more than enough to keep all of the warriors in my command and also cover the various necessary upkeep costs to keep my Empire in full swing, but that is only feasible considering the small size of my Empire. I don't find myself worrying about what will happen once my Empire grows too large for me to effectively sustain a hefty standing garrison force in every territory, but, I will worry about that when I have to. No sense worrying about a bridge that I have yet to cross, let alone find.

Obviously, even the quiet – well as quiet as can possibly be arranged – birth of a Dungeon Heart does attract a great deal of unwanted and unsolicited attention, and in this case, it would be the attention of a rival Keeper. While it is a point worthy of my concern and notice, it's not exactly something that was overwhelming worrying just yet because instead of the normal several days necessary to develop a fully functional Dungeon, I had to only call the various chambers and facilities in to existence, which meant that it was a matter of hours before I had attracted sufficient numbers to know, and not assume, that my position here is secure, even though there is an enemy frothing at the mouth, in search of my current position. The Lava River was my insurance policy for added security, because getting across the river would mean they would have to build a bridge and come at me – and my sentries and patrols up and down the length of the river would maintain a most careful watch. It would not do well for a sneak attack to be successful, for all of my sentries would pay the penalty for such a failure, even if it was not their assigned patrol area. It kept my forces alert and hard working, and also fearful of my less than justifiable definition of "justice."

I found it strange that Feral had left none of the humans alive in her land, which is of course vastly different from the way I run things – as you readers are all well aware –that involved leaving large tracts of un-spoiled land, naturally beautiful and preserved where people live and go about their daily lives, and the only difference between their lives under my control and a Lord of the Land is that I expect less tax from them and am more interested in doing business with them for certain goods and services…. What? Who the heck do you think does all the laundry for the Warlocks and my own clothes? You didn't think that I actually had access to something like a washing machine and a dryer down here did you? And don't get me started on how dry, bland and outright disgusting I find Chicken, day after day. I like a little variety and I don't intend to find out exactly what heroes taste like - some of my minions have actually mentioned that they taste rather like chicken. I'm still not sure what to make of that.

Research was somewhat slower pace than it could have otherwise been, but even slower research provides the occasional breakthrough. The breakthrough was not necessarily an overly powerful spell, or a spell that has any combative use, but this "Sight of Evil," proved itself to be incredibly useful, for I was able to use it to gain a view of terrain and areas that have yet to be explored, allowing me to "see" exactly what was there. This of course, includes foreign territory such as the interior of an enemy's dungeon. There are times when having too much information can be a bad thing. The simple story is that there are numerous enemy warriors – very numerous, to about three times my strength in warriors, but most of them sorely lacked any kind of real training, and from the looks of them, this particular Keeper appears to rely upon superior numbers to overwhelm her foes. Her reputation it seemed, was a calculated ploy that kept other Keeper's from knocking on her Dungeon door. I hate liars: She used superior numbers and would no doubt be a fan of Napolean Bonaparte's "quantity has a quality all its own" mantra.

Sadly, there is an unspoken truth in warfare that superior numbers of an inferior enemy can oftentimes overrun their enemies in a fashion similar to wave assault. The massive army that this particular Feral has built up allows for her patrols to consist of between four and eight warriors of various types and classes. Her strategy is to bulk out her army as much as possible, accepting massive casualties to achieve her objectives, whatever they may be. A less than pleasant thought, for portals cannot continually attract minions. Those gateways to the void, have only so much power, and as such, can only attract and for lack of a better term, "support" so many warriors before their capacity limit is reached. I would need to find an equalizer, and as much as I would like to summon that demon to aid me in killing off the rest of Feral's warriors, I knew that I could not afford to pay the necessary price yet again.

Its times like this that I remember why I ordered the construction of massive Libraries and the recruitment of an equally large number of researchers, scattered throughout the many lands of my empire. Because not only do they produce spells and aid in the design of many different traps and also in several different special projects of mine, but they are also smart enough to ensure that they have comprehensive files on all of the knowledge, lore, and even the more outlandish rumors, myths and legends that are prevalent in a given land. For every land that I have conquered, there are extensive files and records on every activity that takes place, going far back in the realm's history.

It was one of those lesser known legends that caught the attention of Gazz's associates, which was then verified by one of Drahuliska's cohorts. It appeared that in this stretch of the river, somewhere, there is a Prison that was created to house and contain the vilest, most inhuman of all human criminals. The spells within the prisons confines were designed to cause unending torment by replaying the images of whatever carnage and destruction they wrought over and over, while their body wastes away until only bone and magic remain. Reduced to such as state, the magic would then wipe their minds clean and they would have no knowledge of their past or what, why or how they came to be in such a wretched state – barring of course, the memories of their suffering and torment. This created sick, twisted and extremely evil Skeleton warriors. and I would have the ability to recruit these minions, and if I can capture this Prison complex, make many more. It would only take minor adjustments to the spells and incantations to speed up the progress.

Those corrupted to skeleton warriors would have no knowledge of themselves, their lives or their past, apart from memories of great pain and suffering that I could use to my advantage. It would be easy enough to twist that, to blame it on the forces of light or, if it came to it, upon a rival Keeper and put these walking bone piles as sacrificial shock troops against the enemy. Skeletons are most effective when they can overwhelm the enemy. I might not be able to match the massive army that this woman has at her command, but I have no doubt that I would be able to bleed her ranks enough for me to gain numerical parity at least.

The other thing that the old records mentioned was what made me determined to find these "islands." It held, supposedly, a magical power that could enhance the strength of a Keepers army. The trouble is, these islands are located in a middle of not just any Lava River, but THE Lava River of the Underground. Legend's of this river's power and origins are rather impressive – The mental textbook in my head providing information because it choose to – as it is said that a Lich had a massive underground complex here, where he did much of his research and work, but also experiments. Once such experiment was a magnificent disaster, when it somehow broke open an underground something that unleashed the flows of the river. The Lich, along with his entire subterranean empire were completely erased from existence, with all his minions and his research. Apparently, the river carved a path through the domain of a Keeper, and also the Stronghold of a Lord of the Land as it simply wandered and meandered where it wished to before it simply disappeared back in those depths.

Fascinating, as that was, it still did not tell me how to find these little magical islands located somewhere within the river. Reconnaissance is of mounting importance, not only to find these islands of magic, isolated with the Lava River, but also to gain more information about my rival in this realm. We had been fortunate thus far as our arrival has gone relatively unnoticed and the lack of aggression by my forces thus far will leave her guessing. A showdown between our respective forces would not bode well for either of us, as she has numerical superiority while my warriors are better skilled. An entertaining but ultimately pyrrhic victory and to equalize her numerical advantage, I would need those Skeleton Warriors and I would happily use the warriors of Feral's own army to fill the ranks of the undead warriors of army.

What in the nine hells is that smell coming from my Portal?

5


	17. Chapter 17: A Stinking Arrival

**Chapter 17:**

**A Stinking Arrival**

There is no accurate word for the smell that permeated through the air. I admit it smelled like I was locked in a carriage on a hot summer day when an elephant had taken a vicious dump. That smell coupled with the heavy scent of methane that filtered through the air created an extremely unsavory combination. I just happened to be passing by the Workshop when I noticed that all work and activity had stopped, which tends to be a sign of misfortune. It proves to be even more disconcerting that my Trolls stood around grinning like maniacs. Trolls do not have pretty smiles, but normally a Troll smiles just before they proceed to tear your arms from their sockets – or worse. Then I felt it, a surge in mana the change over the course of several long moments as the mana in the air swirled and shifted, the pathways it normally follows shifting and drifting, affecting the pace and rhythm of my Dungeon Heart. That creature is out there. I can feel its presence, that it has felt the call of the Black Flame and is about to come through my Portal.

The smell grew in intensity and I glanced nervously at the torch brackets lining the wall… if the methane gas continued its build up, it would only be a matter of moments before the entire Dungeon would go up in flames and we would all be barbecued to a crispy finish. I had no idea that there was anything that could smell this bad, and such a foul stench could only come from something that would serve the Dark as the Light would not want anything that smelled like this creature fighting beneath their banner. In the few moments that preceded its arrival, the encyclopedia in my skull seemed to unlock yet again, even as sparks began to fly from the Portal.

It's unlocking gave me a fucking migraine, but it gave me valuable information about this creature, its intense, raw brute strength making it very clear that it was used to living large, and very much in charge, using its brute strength to get the job done. It was a decent artificer and an effective blocker in combat and had a few specialties that amounted to eating, drinking, farting, fighting and manufacturing in the Workshop. The name of its species came to me moments before the runes surrounding the door like portal flashed a burgundy blood red, and a small nova of light flashed, blinding for a brief second: Bile Demon. Considering the smell, I might just start calling them Fart Demons.

On first glance, one can be forgiven if one believes that a bright red rubber ball has just rolled its way in to the dungeon. Standing eight feet tall, the Bile Demon was more of a Giant without feet or legs to stand on. They move by using their arms, those bony, almost skeletal thin limbs to propel themselves wherever they want to go, moving a mountain that could weight almost a full ton. From the depths of the darkness of the Portal to the light from the torch brackets that lined the walls of my domain that I finally got my first true view of a Bile Demon.

These creatures, if you could call them Demons, they are composed of nothing but fat that's a deep burgundy, almost deep rose red in color. The sheer thickness of the fat coating them would be a very effective form of armor against nearly any weapon that the Heroes or Light would have at their disposal, barring of course certain, more powerful magic or piercing projectile weapon of some kind, most likely the arrow of an Elven Archer. The sheer flabbiness of their hide would make them effective front line blockers, more than capable of absorbing the initial contact with the enemy or stall the advance of the enemy as these Bile Demons would be more than capable of forming an immovable wall of defense. Either one could be suitable for my purposes, depending on the situation that arises. Their weapons are in plain sight, hanging and swinging from the chains at the end of his horns at nearly forty-five degree angels from behind what would pass for their ears. The metal balls were covered in dozens of spikes, effective when swung to impale a foe and at crushing armor.

The Trolls were ecstatic to see the Bile Demon, and it seemed as if this particular, scrawny specimen of a Bile Demon was an old friend of the lead Troll in my employ, Erk. It appeared that a friendship was being renewed between the master artificer of my dungeon, and a dubious title at its best, and this particular Bile Demon, but it matters not, as this new arrival is going to have to commune with the Dungeon Heart…. And my guess is that Erk will get him there, no matter how long it takes… and it was definitely going to take a while considering just how those things use their arms to literally row the ocean of fat around them, giving them a steady if somewhat plodding-along pace.

It just occurred to me that I have not actually explained to you, dear reader, what happens when a new warrior or minion enters my Dungeon and seeks to join the ranks of my army. I'd like to think that I am a better employer than most other Keepers, but I can't prove that, as the majority of Keepers would either be cheating, or beating up all of their own minions to ensure that the "truth" is told to the Keeper's preference. For me, personally, I like to keep it short and to the point just so that nobody wastes time. Wasted time means lost productivity and I do have an entire world to conquer.

When these neutral creatures touch a Dungeon Heart, the first thing that happens is that they gain my colors, the black and gold that make up my battle standard, and also get the mark of the Black Flame burned on their shoulders. There is no way to remove that mark, less the Black Flame is defeated in its entirety and I am killed. These neutral creatures then gain the all important psychic link between themselves and me, but its more of a one way link in that I can talk to them and they can hear me, but if any of them ever want to talk to me, they have to come and talk to me in person, and if I'm in a good mood, then I will grant them an audience – which rarely happens for the standard rank and file warriors.

The next thing that they gain is a brief overview of the "rules and regulations" that they will live by. There is no "opting out" of service to the Black Flame, and there is no such thing as "retirement" either. You serve forever, until death claims you. There is one punishment: Death. Mutinous Insurrection is punished by death. Treason is punishable by Death. Succumbing to enemy torture and revealing anything about the Black Flame is considered Treason, and will be punished by death – if you live of course. That is any minion's end of the bargain. And of course, I have my own end of the bargain to uphold.

It's a tradition that goes back to the beginning of time and the First Great War between Light and Dark. My end of the bargain is that they will receive a generous, well slightly above average paycheck, on account of the fact that I have several of those very useful Gemstone Vales available, will be provided with adequate shelter and food and whatever facilities that they might need. If they choose to take an interest in something that is not normally within their scope of activities, for example, a Warlock wants to do manufacturing in the Workshop, it's between my minions to make the arrangements. With battle strategy, tactics, and the upkeep of an empire to concern myself with, I do not get involved with "dungeon politics," less it revolves around an assassination attempt or ensuring that the respective members of my Inner Circle are inspired to mistrust their fellows, to a lesser degree.

Sending out my Giant Flies to conduct reconnaissance had turned this hit and miss affair in a charbroiled and miss affair. I had lost several Giant Flies because they were either flying too low above the Lava and were broiled alive when it bubbled up suddenly, or were flying too close to the cavern ceiling and burst of lava had immolated them or an updraft of gas had impaled them to the stalagmites above. The islands are cloaked from sight and this is arguably the hardest step in the entire process. Once the island is found, it is a relatively simple matter to build a bridge and recover the artifacts, schematics and magic. Due to my somewhat paranoid nature when it comes to security, the only entryway in to my Dungeon is almost a kilometer downstream and through an equally long gauntlet of traps and dead ends, and more traps and doors before they could actually find a way in to my Dungeon. This assumes that you know which path to take through the maze.

And using magic to find these places would take just as long, even with almost twenty researchers actively searching for any kind of mana pulse or beacon, something that would indicate the presence of mana and spells where there should not be any. With the loss of another day, we managed to find and have the bridges constructed out to the three islands which are all equally small and to pathetic to establish Guard Posts. Feral will come searching for us soon enough, and I do not want to be caught with my pants down. Our excavations finally bore fruit as we crack into the long abandoned chamber, only to find evidence that made it clear that my opponent had found the prison but had discarded it, as the facility had been too long abandoned, and she continued its pattern of abandonment and dereliction without a second of consideration.

It seems that she valued strength of arms, and numerical superiority over intelligence. She had seen nothing but a crumbling ruin and left it. I had seen opportunity in this abandoned chamber, if it worked as it was supposed to: anything that dies within this Prison will become a Skeleton warrior that I can easily bind in eternal servitude to the Black Flame to do my bidding. I could feel the evil grin stretching my facial muscles at the simple wealth of treasure that I had found on this one island. And while the second island, east of this one, was empty, the western isle held something of great power. So much power that nobody wanted to get too close to it, and there was hesitation even in Drahuliska and Gazz. I have a healthy respect of any object that appears to be a cube that floats by itself while impregnating its surroundings with enough mana to make even you, dear reader, dizzier than you have ever been in your entire life. The runes inscribed upon the cube covered all six of its sides, and were definitely ancient, and also written in the Language of the Dark Gods that is the tongue of Demons – the true language of Demons that very few had any working knowledge of in this day and age.

Drahuliska, Gazz and myself stood a short distance away admiring the beautiful cube like object that floated several feet of the ground, all six of its surfaces covered in ancient runes. Drahuliska called for imps to carry the floating object back to the Libraries, where there are facilities for dealing with such things. No sense in opening it up out here… in case it attracts the wrong kind of attention.

I returned with the Inner Circle of the Black Flame to my Dungeon and my Dungeon Heart. With our successes here, I felt I had earned us the right for a small celebration. I made a note to check with my "accountant" – one of the other Warlocks – to authorize a small pay "bonus" for those involved with the projects. A little bit of additional motivation lets every warrior and minion see that I do have what can be called a "good" side, and also makes it clear that there is a lot more to me than some slavering, insane demonic, mass murdering psychopath. I dare say many of my minions see me as schizophrenic – not as if they know what that is. But I am the Keeper, and victory, will soon be mine. There is only one final thing that stands between me and me claiming this land for my own: This so-called Feral.

4


	18. Chapter 18: Addendum to the Truth

**Chapter 18**

**Addendum to the truth**

If you are still reading my sordid tale of misadventure, you have realized that this is not so much a retelling of events but more of a journal that documents events as they occur Admittedly, as I'm the one who reveals events and how they occur, it would not be truthful for me to say that it is the absolute truth. I've described the fights and battles, the seemingly unbounded loyalty that I inspire in my perfectly expendable warriors, the way my opponents seem to fall like wheat before the scythe irrespective of whether they are Lords or those pathetic little Dwarves. Every writer, everyone who records events as they happen, has their own perception, their own view and of course, their own level of bias towards the events being detailed. The bias comes from the fact that I am the writer who is living through these events as they happen. The truth in the coming pages is as truthful as everything else I have written, but perhaps, somewhat more grounded in its actual reality of living life permanently underground, and having forgotten, for a large part, what that big bright orb in the sky is supposed to be. Sad how the simple pleasures of life, that I used to enjoy more when I was, well, more human, are now dimly remembered things that I don't think about anymore.

The early pages of this saga give one the impression that I was actually enjoying myself more than I should have. That was a mistake, but I'm not one to actually go back and change my story and actually reveal how I really felt as a human, turned Dungeon Keeper or to be more direct about it: Human turned Demonic Monster. I killed because it was what I had to do to survive, and it is the only way to prosper. Kill the heroes and warriors of the light and kill my own when it becomes necessary. I realize now that a few events that I left out should have been included because I have made reference to them, but never explained some of the things I do. I have made the entire task of being a Dungeon Keeper look far simpler than it actually is. I have left out the fact that in the short space of time that I have been Dungeon Keeper, Lord and Master of the Black Flame, I have, in addition to conquering four different lands, survived two assassination attempts from within my own ranks.

It's never business in this world, because everything is always personal. That's how things are around here, especially when it comes to rising up from obscurity to gain a position with power, stature and influence. The most powerful of these positions, is of course, the position of Dungeon Keeper and the most powerful of Dungeon Keepers is the one who conquers the most lands and bring down the Avatar above. Nobody has yet to succeed, so for the moment, Keepers are measured with regards to how many lands they have in their possession at any one time. I hold four lands, and that puts me at the top of the list. There are numerous other Keepers, and the most dangerous of them is apparently Keeper Darkhammer. Suffice to say that his reputation precedes him and with five lands under his control, I am his greatest rival. Fortunately for me, we have yet to face each other across the battlefield.

Ascension by assassination is a popular and effective technique. The first attempt on my life, came, funnily enough, from one of the Demon Spawn. The Demon Spawn in question got very close, in fact within striking distance of finishing me off. If it had not been for Gazz, he probably would have succeeded. I killed my would-be assailant, and received numerous grievous wounds for it, not to mention a nice patchwork of crisscrossing scars along my ribs, lower spine, left hip and thigh. It was Gazz who cast the healing spell that kept me conscious and alive. If he had slain me, back when I only had the two Dungeon Hearts under my control, then that little vermin would have been able to move in and demolish the other Dungeon Heart, effectively killing me. When a Keeper dies, the Dungeon Heart that he is tied to becomes neutral, allowing the next person or creature to come in contact with it to take over control of that particular Heart, and as such, ascend to the rank of Dungeon Keeper. But if you have more than one, you are simply "reborn" at the next closest Dungeon Heart to where you perished.

The second attempt was something more dangerous, as I faced insurrection that was lead by a Skeleton King and the rest of his own "elite guard." Drahuliska and Gazz proved to be instrumental in assisting me grind them to a fine white powder with the consistency of cocaine before I ordered their traitorous remains scattered in the Four Rivers of the Underground. I don't fault Gazz even though he released them – it was my command that sent him on his little quest to free them.

The way I wrote about my first kill, it lacked seriousness, it lacked to a degree, the appropriate amount of respect it should have been given. I look back on it and also realize that it was the hardest thing that I have ever had to do in my short life. When I was young, and in my own home – in the world your reside in dear reader - I would watch movies and TV series, where you get those military guys who kill and then some of these stone cold killers start reflecting on the whole business, and they start with that, "I killed the first man, I shot him," replace "shot him" with whatever might be appropriate, "and I was surprised at how it made me feel, the guilt the pain the shock and horror at having taken another life. Then I killed the second one, and then the third, and by the time I'd killed the fourth or fifth, I'd forgotten what made killing the first one so hard."

Never in my life, have I heard anything so outrageously stupid. As someone who has killed, maimed and butchered more than his fair share, I can honestly tell you that you never forget your first true kill. I still remember that first Lord of the Land, how I gave him the option to surrender his blade, and _walk away._ He had too much pride, too much honor to simply take the offer. But you never forget the face – or in my case, those eyes, which showed me his emotions, his rage, and also showed me that his soul that was pure, the very purity that I daresay I once possessed, before that first kill took it from me. Of course, it could be possible that I simply have not killed enough – now there is a disturbing thought.

I make it seem like I've never been injured in any of my battles, and granted, there have been quite a few of them. I make it seem like I stroll through without fear, slaying them left and right, as if I am the scythe and my foes are the wheat. It's not true. I feel fear, I am scared, and I do hesitate. And I do remember what its like to kill that person or that whoever or whatever is on the receiving end of my blade. I don't deny that I have some humanity left in me, but most of it is dead. Perhaps someday, I'll find a way, after I'm back home, to reactivate that part of me, so that I can truly be "human" and fit in around other humans. I've got to get home first. Because until I'm home again and caught up upon the world that has probably buried me and left me behind as humans tend to do when someone they love dies, I won't need my humanity in these parts - It's more likely to get me killed than to actually save me.

The lack of humanity is a blessing and a curse, because I don't feel the pain in the acute way that humans feel it. I don't think that I can fairly call myself human anymore. I am becoming, evolving, into something else, and its definitely less human and more something else. But in spite of all that, I still bleed red blood. And my scars are the scars of a veteran, such as the trio of puncture wounds in my right thigh, knee and calf, compliments of a pair of damned Elven Archers and the one that damned near crippled me: My right collar bone that crushed bone, destroyed tendon and shredded muscle. There was a lot of blood with that one, and an exquisite amount of pain too but I don't let it slow me down. I have my injuries that have given me scars. I haven't grown weaker, I'm growing stronger. What I'm becoming is up for debate, but I know I'll try to paint a more realistic picture of the events that are to come, instead of something that reads more like a glorified fairy tale. But I believe that I have digressed enough to assuage my wounded sense of honesty and that I should continue with my narration of the events in the Land of Lush-Meadow-On-Down…

One's tactics must evolve constantly and even radically to ensure success against your enemies. Just because we've been doing this the same old way, does not mean that it'll always work. And it is a step when you go from slaughtering human heroes to slaughtering the minions of an enemy Keeper. When it's the latter, there are only two rules that must be followed: Winner takes all, and: There are no rules.

That is why I have within the confines of numerous Workshops and libraries, numerous pet projects, all of which are battlefield weapons of some form. For example, the pet project off mine, that specific weapon that has been in development, the Dragon Gunblade, is a weapon that will guarantee that I am damned near unbeatable in melee combat. Other Keepers prefer magic, and it comes down to a matter of personal preference. Range combat is not really my personal forte, but my magic is more than sufficient in that department. I prefer to feel a weapon in my hand that I can heft the weight and test the balance of, instead of any kind of magic. My magic is not so much combative, but more supportive and disruptive. The principal idea behind my use of magic is to protect myself and disrupt the spell casting, or the ranged attacks, of my foes, until I can close the distance and personally end the encounter.

In the meantime, reconnaissance work, by both myself and the few Giant Flies left in my employ had created a relatively accurate map of the enemy's position, including all of her outlying defensive outposts. While she continued to enjoy superiority in numbers against me, engaging her in direct combat would be pure suicide as she would be capable of overrunning my warriors without fail.

The Prison complex that we had successfully captured and converted to my cause had a far too centralized location for my comfort. Considering that it was located directly in the middle of the river, the very same river which separated two rival Keepers from each other, it would not be a good idea for me to even consider taking the fight to an enemy that outnumbers me substantially. Due to its less than strategic location, I had my research personnel take everything that we could need - blueprints and floor plans, before I tasked my imps with the duty of creating another cavern, this one to be converted into a Prison that is soon to be completed. All it is missing now is the prisoners, of which there is soon to be a bountiful supply of.

Drahuliska and Gazz were researching and planning a new and somewhat accelerated training regime for my forces to ensure that they would be at full strength and battle ready, while I considered fighting a different form of warfare, arguably perfected by a tactician and communist philosopher from my home world. I had studied his principles of warfare, and to put it lightly, Mao Tse Tung had perfected that form of warfare we would employ against our numerically superior opponent. Guerrilla warfare would be the most efficient for it would allow me to reduce her numerical superiority and hopefully achieve a parity of forces. The second would be to reduce the morale of her warriors by strategically targeting her Inner Circle and the leadership caste of her Dungeon. Low morale troops, without direction and leadership tend to rout easily upon the battlefield. The third would be to take prisoners that I can then convert in to Skeleton Warriors, who had already proved their worth in battle once, when their sheer resilience had proved to be more than a match for the warriors of an unfortunate Lord of the Land.

To cultivate the ranks of Skeleton Warriors I hoped to unleash, I would need living prisoners. That would mean reminding my own minions not to kill those who surrender. This would mean either stunning or rendering the enemy unconscious so that my Imps can drag their carcasses where to go. They must be alive and kicking when thrown in Prison so that their minds and bodies can be altered accordingly. Skeleton warriors make perfect shields and tankers, adequately skilled in melee combat and also able, with sufficient training, to gain elemental mastery over Lightning, allowing them to hurl potent lightning bolts to strike down enemies at range. Now the question would be of when and where to strike at my enemy to take as many prisoners as possible. A task that I left the two of my Inner Circle to resolve – Erk had a different project that he was involved with and when the time came, it would mean that my Trolls would be opponents to be terrified off, instead of simply feared.

The plan developed by the most intelligent members of my Inner Circle called for the use of guerrilla tactics to strike all six of the enemy's outlying defense outposts, which support a small garrison force of three to four warriors. The enemy's roving patrols would of course, arrive at such an outpost to find the regular garrison forces missing, have several short moments to wander around in a confused fashion before we capture as many of them as possible and kill those we have to. Should the plan work, the Black Flame would cut her forces by thirty to forty warriors, effectively halving her strength.

"It is of the highest priority to prevent them from raising the alarm. Their disappearance will weaken enemy morale, and the loss of so many of her forces so quickly will also place her on edge," said Drahuliska, "I would not count on this "Feral" to be making any further mistakes after such significant losses have been inflicted upon her forces. Most likely, she will move in force, employing search and destroy tactics to hunt us down."

"But, with our holdings consolidated upon the Southern Reaches of the river, and all of our attacks crossing it, if we leave no trace of our passage across the river, we can ensure that our location remains unknown to her. It would then take several days, I estimate three, before we would have the massed ranks of Skeleton Warriors necessary to engage and destroy Feral in a single set piece battle.

"Very well, we adapt accordingly and we move ahead as scheduled. From tomorrow, we take the fight to the enemy. And in three days time, this land will fall." If those two cannot trust each other, I don't have to fear them working against me, quite as much, "Drahuliska, Gazz, you will both lead the assaults against any two outposts of your choosing. I will lead the assault against a third. Erk and his Trolls will lead the assault against a fourth. Each of you will pick one of your fellows to lead the assault against the fifth and sixth outposts respectively."

The following day dawned quietly and peacefully and my forces were at the ready. I was leading a strike against one of the better defended positions with a lance of Bile Demons and a mixed lance of Warlocks and Demon Spawn. Four Imps were standing a little father back, somewhat fidgety but understandably so. No Imp likes being at the forefront of any battle. "Team Leaders, report readiness," I ordered quietly. Granted, the trio of Trolls and pair of Demon Spawn were of no real match for any of the forces that I had, but it would not do any good to tip our hand early and allow them to relay a warning.

"This is Gazz: Ready!"

"This is Drahuliska: Ready!"

"Erk is ready!" I'm glad that I took the time to actually get his intelligence. It makes it easier to communicate with him, makes the Workshop run more smoothly and also avoids nasty accidents – such as the one involving a certain Warlock who shall remain nameless – from occurring.

"This is Rybak: I am prepared!" the Warlock leading the assault against the fifth position seemed competent. I hope that she has not been promoted too early.

The hissing left me confused for a moment… I knew that a Dragon was leading the attack on the sixth enemy position, but I don't speak Dragon too well, and he realized that rather quickly, "Selim Wind-Ryder: Ready," a momentary pause, "apologies Keeper."

I could hear the quiet chuckles and I found myself breaking in something akin to a smile, an expression which I quickly erased from my features, as the final reports came in from the Giant Flies – the enemy patrols were all in motion, moving from one position to the next. Like a commander on thousands of other battlefields, I had awaited the dawn upon the day of battle and the sun has risen upon, "Have at them!"

The assaults were as expected – swift and brutal. In this instance the sheer toxicity of a Bile Demon's gasses were literally hurled in to the ranks of the enemy, detonating with the concussive force of a belt of Flash Bang grenades that threw the enemy to the floor, moments before the smell made its way in their lungs, causing a massive series of coughing fits that kept them on the floor. The only unaffected enemy Troll had no chance as he stood dumbstruck by the sudden ferocity of the attack. He turned to flee, only to suddenly find himself face to face with me. Grabbing either side of his head, I twisted his head with a ferocious strength that I had not known that I possessed. I heard and felt the vertebrate snap, the bones cracking like dry twigs before he fell to the floor. My Warlocks had already disabled two more of the enemy with powerful sleep spells that had left the group of already disoriented enemy forces in even worse shape, seconds before they were collectively thrown into a wall with a gusting blast of wind, stunned and unconsciousness. The reports of success came in almost overlapping each other in their rapidity.

"Gazz: Mission accomplished."

"Selim Wind-Ryder: Mission Accomplished."

"Drahuliska: Position secured."

"Erk…. We whooped 'em good Keeper!"

"Keeper, Rybak reporting: Mission successful. Captured one Demon Spawn, one Bile Demon, two Trolls, and two Warlocks."

I was starting to like this Warlock, Rybak, a lot more than I considered possible. I gave the signal to the Imps and they rushed forward, "Excellent work. Prepare yourselves. And remember that there are enemy patrols to be dealt with." So far, phase one had gone surprisingly well. Hopefully phase two would be as successful. Thus far, I'd cut her forces by about a quarter, taking a total of seventeen of her warriors. Drahuliska's foresight meant that the prison complex was large enough for up to fifty individuals.

It wound up to be something of a short wait, as the distance between the outposts was not too great. It was only another hour before they came in to view. And it took just a few minutes before we had stunned unconscious all but one Warlock, who refused to succumb, sending both of my Demon Spawn flying through the air to slam into a wall, the crack of broken bones audible before consciousness faded. This particular opponent moved with a lithe agility as he side stepped and evaded every brute force blow from a pair of my Bile Demons who were getting extremely aggravated with the sheer reluctance of this Warlock to join his comrades in their current catatonic state.

I drew my newest weapon and waded, even as the Warlocks hurled spells with pinpoint accuracy, forcing the enemy to conjure a powerful shield that glimmered in the dim light, spells rebounding from the golden barrier. His shield is designed to stop magical attacks, and standing still does little to counter against physical blows, as I came in sight just as I struck, the Cloak of Shadows dissipating around me. The heavy serrated blade slashed and tore in the arm, before a hard twist and jerk cast the enemy Warlock off balance and on to the floor. Long enough for the heavy pommel and handle of my weapon to smash the side of his skull, drawing blood and leaving him unconscious.

My Imps raced forward, grabbing the unconscious patrol, while I swept up the two youngish Demon Spawn and piled them over my shoulder, starting the trek back across the bridge to friendly territory where the Keeper's Hand waited, to transport us all back to my Dungeon… where a lot of different creatures and people were in for a very horrible death. But that is the price of victory. At least, I know that I'm going to be telling myself that for several days to come, just so that I can get a decent night of sleep. I've lost enough of my soul and humanity as it is… and I need to somehow preserve whatever I have left, because that humanity will have to be used when I return home.

7


	19. Chapter 19: The Rot Within one's Mind

**Chapter 19:**

**The Rot within one's Mind.**

Now I have to confess that I had originally decided not to include the gritty, dirty details of what it must be like to feel yourself weakening, and then dying slowly as you forget who you are and then become something else. I admit that revealing this, and the depths of sheer cruelty involved, makes it very clear that I'm not human, well not entirely human with regards to psychological and emotional definitions of humanity. Physically, my body has undergone so many changes that I know there is little left that's purely human about my body. In this case, I'm referring to what goes through a prisoner's mind as they die, before they are raised as a Skeleton Warrior, bound to serve me until death takes them a second time. That is why Skeleton Warriors make such effective shock troops. The sight of so many undead coming towards you, determined to kill you without making a sound, your spells having limited success at knocking them about while swords and arrows do no harm, is an unnerving sight to say the least.

I'm no longer human. That much I've figured out. I'm becoming something else… what exactly… I don't know and I doubt that I ever will understand it fully. I could confide my concerns, but that would make me look weak. I've had enough problems in my short time here, and I don't need more. Any sign of weakness will be exploited, and I'll have to either fight somebody to the death or put down an insurrection because my Inner Circle and some of my more powerful minions have this unfortunate problem where they aspire to be more than they are – they want to be Dungeon Keepers and wield the power that I wield. Power is one of those relatively fickle things. If you don't flex it often enough people assume that you do not have it or are unwilling to use it, which in turns means that you are weak, and should not be the Keeper. But abuse of power will mean insurrection. Using power, or abusing power… it's a fine line, and any Dungeon Keeper will tell you that it's a line that all Dungeon Keepers walk everyday, because our every move and every step is observed, with people waiting in the wings to take us out.

I can see their thoughts only because the prison saps their power and weakens them, to the point where their memories of anything of importance, whether tactical intelligence or actual knowledge is already lost. The mind can then be read like a book, because it has already been hacked and wide open. It's like a computer hacker who lacks skill and destroys the information inside a computer he actually wants and leaves himself with lots of worthless garbage. The "worthless garbage" in this particular scenario is the victim's sense of self, or their identity is ingrained in virtually every cell of their body.

I did promise you, dear reader, that I would provide you with a more accurate, more fulsome picture of events as they transpire. And in keeping with that promise, I give you, perhaps the last thoughts of the Warlock that proved to be far too stubborn for his own good. The words are his actual thoughts, in the last hours of his life, from the moment he rose from a slumber that did nothing to refresh him or heal his wounds, until he realized what fate awaited him. It would have been far more interesting to actually throw him in a Torture Chamber, to extract all the information he would have possessed, for he was actually one of the Mentors in the employ of my opponent in Lush-Meadow-On-Down. I do not, at the present time, have a Torture Chamber. I believe that I've rambled on about numerous inconsequential matters for long enough. I present you the thoughts of one unfortunate enemy Warlock, pure and unadulterated:

I am awake, I know that. I can see the bars of this small prison cell. The bars surround me on all sides, solid metal… steel… with magic that suppresses any magical ability and physical prowess. I know who I am. I am Cram-Naej, a Mentor, in the employ of a Keeper who refuses to use the title. I know not her true name, but then, none do… she calls herself Feral, and her banner… her banner is that of a swooping falcon, with its claws extended, mouth open as it cries, against a poison green background. She is my Keeper, though she scorns such a title.

There is no sense of time, no sense of place within this Prison. I can still recall, but with increasing blanks, how I was captured, my body bears the wounds from both blade and magic of those red things…. Red… Bile Demons… that tried to impale me, and the magic of those doglike Demon Spawn… and there was the _thing _that ripped through my defenses as if they did not exist. He was powerful, very strong and extremely dangerous. He would be a worthy opponent to my Keeper… whoever that is… Feral. Yes. Her name is Feral… but not Keeper Feral. Just Feral.

Suffice to say, it's rather embarrassing to be captured and now be forced to wait upon a rescue attempt, and there are so many of us, so many of us that bear the same mark, that shows we are brothers, kin of sorts, bound in service to someone. There are so many of us, and so many occupied prison cells, like little rooms in this massive place. I was captured, during combat. The patrol… captured, I think we were all captured. Yes… but some of those cells that held members of my patrol are now empty…. They are either dead or are being persuaded to convert. My own patrol was tasked, with… ensuring security… of the outlying positions that guarded against enemy attacks. I cannot recall who was amongst my patrol, only that there were six or seven, perhaps eight members of my patrol. I cannot recall who was among its number. When we arrived at one of the outlying positions… we were ambushed and cut asunder so quickly, I had not even the time to raise an alarm that we were attacked, and that there is an infestation from a Rival Keeper in her territory.

Twenty-five cells, at least that many… there are four in a row and I can see at least five rows of them. Each one is small, just large enough for one, with barely enough room to lie down. Many were occupied with every kind of warrior from the lowly and pathetic Giant Beetle and Giant Fly, to Demon Spawn and Bile Demons. Three cells away from me held three of my brother Warlocks: Kane… Tiberius and… and… I can't remember his name… I think he was new in our Keeper's employ. That is most likely why I do not remember his, or is it her name? Ferocious… no Feral. Feral. I must remember that name.

My mind, I have noticed that it is not the fabulous instrument that it once was. It seems to me to be far slower, somehow weaker. I know that my wounds are not healing as they should, and that… how long have I been here? I don't remember how long it has been? I can't say whether it has been hours? It could also be days…. Perhaps it has been a week…. No… it cannot be a week. It must be at least days… I woke up here and I don't remember being knocked unconscious to be the last memory I have before awakening in this cell. No matter, a rescue would soon be coming and… did I manage to alert my Keeper…. I don't think… I don't know where this enemy of my Keeper has built his Dungeon. Even a rescue will not come in time, for they don't know where to search for me and the others who have been captured.

These Prison cells are well designed, as they suppress magical ability and are surely sturdy enough to prevent anyone from physically breaking the bars to attempt an escape. Every prisoner is isolated from the other with a Cone of … Silence … around the individual cell…. It prevents us from talking to each other to even try to come up with some method of escape. But surely there is a way to escape…. Wait… those thoughts… I have had them before. It is Déjà vu… I am reliving the same day? Am I in some kind of perverse nightmare from which I cannot awake? My physical form is weakening, and there is no mana in the air. I can't feel it while normally I can, because I'm a Warlock. What is happening to me?

I cannot gather any mana for even the simplest of spells… my powers… my ability, it's as if I have none and it has taken… Two? Three days for my powers to become so depleted, and for me to feel like I'm floating. It could be dizziness due to a lack of food and water, but it's my mind… my precious mind, my most precious asset…. It is dying while I continue to live… I have memories, but there are fragments, like drawings and designs upon crumpled parchment… not clear no matter how much I try to remember. My, memory … memories, are fading, dissipating like dust clouds before the wind.

My hands! What has happened to my hands! They should not look like this…. All pale, and gaunt – mere skin bone and sinew where there was once flesh and blood within. There is nothing but bone! There were others I saw… I remember something but it's so clouded, I can't remember what happened to them. Those empty prison cells… there were others there. Bile Demons and Trolls…. but, I can't remember who they were and I cannot remember what happened to them! As prisoners or as…. as …. I can't remember… me! They were like me! But what am I?

What have the fates planned for me?

Hours pass – I think, or it could be days, I don't know. I can't tell. My mind, my most valuable possession is nothing but broken fragments of what it once was… thoughts, images, pictures… I cannot focus, I cannot maintain a coherent stream of thought…everything just flashes by, - images and displays of pyrotechnical light and sound. What is happening to me? Are those my memories? Are these images being forced into my mind? I do not know! I need someone to help me, to explain what is happening! Nothing makes sense! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!

Nothing? What is nothing? What was I thinking about just now? How long ago was just… have I had these thoughts before? I have a feeling of something, akin to de… de ja vu? Why don't I remember? What am I supposed to remember?

I hear the gasp and turn to see the impact as one of the Beetles in a neighboring cell falls to the floor, convulsing while he takes one, two, three more raspy breaths, undoubtedly his last breaths. It must have been days since we were given any food or water. What happened, what did I do to deserve such a fate? I have served my… master loyally and without fail. What is happening to me?

The flesh, what little of it that remained, sloughed off the body, the carapace, disintegrating, breaking down to a slime along with most of the internal organs, death and decay and putrefying, the smell of damp rot and stale blood heavy in the air. The torches along the walls add light and shadow, giving the entire event a macabre air to it.

Within minutes, all that remain of that… that Beetle are its pure, bleached white bones. The blinding flash… my eyes… arrggghhh… the pain… I know my hands are covering my eyes… why can't I see? I've moved my hands… all I see _is_ darkness. And more darkness! No! I cannot be! I cannot be blind!

Wait… sight is returning… what is that? It's a skeleton… with a sword and shield? By the Dark Gods! That cell... it held the skeleton before… but it was the dead skeleton of some minion that had been a fellow warrior of the Feral! It was not possible for it to be dead, and now walking around and moving. No wait… that is possible. That fallen creature is now one of the undead … and it serves the master of this twisted, demented place! Its cell door was open and it is walking away, leaving me to die and join it in eternal servitude. This cannot be my fate!

It can't be that I have seen this before, but I know that I've seen this before, I know that I have. How could I see such a thing and not remember seeing it until I see it again? What is this diabolical place supposed to be? This is not a prison, or a holding place….

Is this is some form of magical manufacturing? This is a factory to convert the living in undead warriors who will serve the Keeper of the Black Flame. Wait... how do I know that? That name? Black Flame? I will die, and rise again to assist them in wresting control of this land. My former master would be hard pressed to replace the losses to her forces… her portals are all but exhausted. My former Master's? Mistresses? … Her army would grow steadily weaker…. And Keeper Firestorm's was growing in strength.

Black Flame? Former Master? Keeper Firestorm? Who do I serve? I know the name! The name of my true Keeper! His, no her name…. her name is… I am… I am… by the powers…"

I admit that, as the Keeper of the Black Flame this is my doing… and I'd left every prisoner to die in this slow and painful fashion. The mind is a terrible thing to waste… especially one as powerful and talented as that one. I don't have any excuses or anything that I can say to morally and spiritually justify what I have done to those unfortunate creatures. It is not something that you, the one reading this sordid tale of misadventure, can understand because I am not sure how to explain why I do it. I could just kill them, which would be far kinder, but I do not. I admit that I included that unfortunate bastards thoughts for only one reason. I don't want to be too biased. I admit that as the pen holder and writer, I get to write what I want, how I want and there will be few people alive to contradict my words, and no minion dumb enough to. But I include that to make you aware that I am aware that every day I spent out here, fighting and killing, a small part of the human me, dies inside. I can protect a part of it, to keep myself whole, and to keep myself from losing everything that makes me human.

Being a Keeper, sometimes I have caught myself wondering whether my life would have been easier if I had not been cast in this particular role, which has left me with pretty much nowhere to go, and no one to turn too. Guess you could say that I pour out what's left of my human heart and soul in this "journal," just to get everything, or as much as I can at any rate, off my chest so that I can have a little bit of peace and sleep at night. I know who I am. I know what I was. I just wished I knew, for the life of me, what exactly I am changing into.

In a sense, I'm trying to give myself a place, to preserve just what makes me human. To ensure that when I return home, whenever that might be, that I can take something that I can use as some kind of reminder that I am human. Laugh if you will reader, smile if you want to at my pathetic attempt at humor but don't you dare, for one moment actually pitying me. I do what I do because I am the Keeper of the Black Flame, and this is what it is going to take for me to return home.

Perhaps some of you reading this wonder whether it would have been "kinder" or perhaps more "merciful" to allow that particular unfortunate creature to serve the Black Flame. The thought did cross my mind, but the question becomes how can I actually secure his loyalty? It would be next to impossible without the Torture Chamber, to break his will and then subvert him to my cause. If I had the necessary facilities, I would not have left him to perish like that, or left any of his fellow warriors to perish in such a fashion, unless they truly refused to repent and serve me. Don't get me wrong. Traitors of my enemy that convert to the Black Flame would be those that draw suicidal missions, or at the forefront of any battle. I cannot trust a traitor or a turncoat, even if it is one that I myself have created.

Not that it matters. The relative stability of this land is about to be shattered. My warriors stand ready, and my enemy will sooner be standing before me. I'm going to cut down this pestilent wench, and once I'm done offering her blood and her skull to the Dark Gods, I'm going to mount her head alongside those of the Lord of the Lands who have tried, and failed, to stand against me. Hers would be a fine skull and offering to Kharnax. It is very true that in the middle of a war, when battle is fought to the knife's edge, the war cry upon your lips, what exactly a "sin" is, is easily forgot, swept away by the tide of battle and blood lust.

5


	20. Chapter 20: Feral's War

**Chapter 20:**

**Feral's War**

With multiple Gemstone Vales under my control, money is no longer an issue and I have put that wealth to good use. My armies stand strong, the best trained and most skilled. My Dungeons are the finest that this world has ever seen, each the product of countless hours of construction and design. This pestilence led by Feral would be searching for me, especially since I had stolen half of her warriors from her in the space of a solitary day. I found it amusing to watch her warriors searching en masse and having no success as they had yet to consider searching the far bank of the river. Her lack of intelligence is astounding and while she stumbled around like a blind man, I used my magics to peer in her domain as well. Where mine was designed to ensure the comfort of my minions and to ease their lives somewhat by grouping their preferred facilities close to their lairs – Warlocks with easy access to the Library and a fair distance from the noise of the Workshop, and of course vice versa for my Bile Demons – hers seemed to lack any logic or layout, with rooms of bizarre shapes and sizes, some too large for her use, other far too small to be considered practical.

Many differences in construction style could be found between her dungeon and mine. Hers seemed to lack planning, but it was noticeable that there were a large number of right angel turns… to somehow aid in the defense, but the impression that I was beginning to form was that she had no idea what she was doing… Granted there were some areas, like the core area around her Dungeon Heart, that would be very difficult to break in to. That at least had been well designed. But beyond that, the entire place was a mess, and it would be difficult for her to reinforce different areas of her own domain, even with the Keeper's hand, if she was suddenly forced to fight a battle on two fronts. She had multiple rooms but nearly a three fifths of that capacity was underutilized… her army had truly been vast before she had conquered this Land, but it was now a miniscule fraction of its former size. When I finally built a bridge across the river to assault and annihilate this pest and her numerically inferior warriors, there would be plenty of room to maneuver. But it was not to be. I felt it, the tingling at the back of my mind that alerted me to the attempts of someone, or something, that was trying to peer through the shadows of the underground with magic, and that the wards upon the walls of my domain were blocking the spell, but from the intensity of this probing spell, it would only be a matter of minutes before the wards would give way and allow her to peer in to my Dungeon.

It did not matter that she could not actually see in to my domain, but that she had found all that she needed to find. The warding spells that blocked her attempts to view my Domain would also outline the area that was protected by such a ward… which would also expose the only entry point in to my Dungeon, through a long maze of crisis-crossing and looping passages, with every single inch of it covered in a variety of pain causing and nausea inducing traps to weaken and bludgeon any invading force, before any invaders would have a chance to actually engage my warriors. I don't like leaving myself open to attacks and other unexpected visits and surprises. This magical search was somewhat surprising considering it had taken her almost three days to consider looking on the other side of the river. Smarter Keepers would have probably sent out massive search teams and begun using magic to hunt for their foe days ago.

Definitely, not the sharpest knife in a drawer. But it didn't matter. I was finally going to get the opportunity to field test my new toys, by carving them through flesh and bone. The grin I wore was not something that you would want to see. It would definitely have made small children cry in terror, before they were petrified to stone. The report from my sentries came moments later of a Bridge that had appeared from the Northern Bank of the Lava River and that was rapidly being built across, and it appeared to be heading directly towards the only possible point of entry. It took me only moments to connect my mind to the relevant persons in my employ, "Mentors: Our presence has been discovered! Prepare defense!"

"By your will Keeper," hissed Gazz, eager for battle, even as he roared to his brethren, rousing the Dragons and Demon Spawn. I could hear, almost feel them, unsheathing their claws as several gouts of flame suddenly scorching the ceiling as they signaled their readiness, and hunger for battle.

"It shall be done Keeper," replied my Head Librarian. He stood, cracked his spine from top to bottom before reaching in his robes and withdrew a book. What the hell is he going to do with a book? He did the truly unexpected: He dropped it. It was as if he had let off a dozen Sun Burst spells, as every Warlock within the forty square meters Lair bolted upright from sleep, and three more researching in the adjacent library came running in the room. Admittedly, they all looked a little miffed at having their precious sleep disrupted and they took perhaps a further thirty seconds before they reported that they were battle ready.

From the different Lairs scattered across my underground empire, minions of all shapes and forms awoke from their slumber and moved to their pre-assigned defensive positions, with some using their innate abilities to hasten their movement from Lair to that particular position. I have always disliked being forced on the defensive, where you have to react to your enemy and whatever actions that they may take. I prefer to maintain the initiative, and wherever possible, to force my enemy to react to me. There is only one way in my actual dungeon, beyond the massive maze that is designed to deter and if possible, kill intruders before their presence became a problem. Once you got in to my Dungeon, you had to know which turns to take, and how to actually navigate through my Dungeon. I would have to find an opening and use it to disrupt the strategies of this pest. I only wish for a canister of something that would allow me to annihilate this pest at a distance.

No matter. She would be making plenty of mistakes. The first was sending her first wave of troops into the fray without adequate support. Granted, most of them were low level troops, and the more "expendable" minions, namely Giant Spiders, Flies and also Beetles. Most likely, to plot and outline the maze so that her true combat forces would not get worn down before our respective armies met in combat. She had perhaps five or six of these waves of expendable warriors, and they knew their place as they moved slowly and with caution, taking their last steps in my maze.

Feral's forces were massive in numbers and all were reasonably skilled, and she seemed to have replenish her forces despite the losses inflicted. There was no visible support line, which gave me momentary pause. Even an army that relied exclusively on superior numbers would have difficulty to maintain momentum without something to suppress the defense, which would allow wave assault to carry the day. Scanning through the maze, the clue I sough made its presence felt, as not far behind the main body of the enemy, my traps were still being triggered, principally the gas traps that filled their surroundings with noxious fumes that rival the debilitating stench from a bile demon, in addition to the occasional bolts of white-yellow lightning that arced gracefully around the narrow corridors, bouncing from their source through their targets and off walls in pyrotechnic displays.

Warlock invisibility spells most likely. I channeled more mana to my Sight of Evil spell, and it proved to be sufficient to provide a vague moving outline of the group of warlocks that trailed behind, perhaps ten feet from the main battle line. They were about to be on the receiving end of a group of very pointed bones. Opening the psychic link to Cepat, my lead Imp, I gave him my orders, even as the Keeper's Hand swept up a dozen Skeleton Warriors. My Imps appeared just behind the main group of the enemy and the wooden doors, still in their neat little box like packages, suddenly filled the corridor, creating an effective impromptu barricade. Granted, a single wooden door will break and shatter within one or two decent strikes, but when a corridor is suddenly flooded with eight of them, placed back to back, it creates a barricade that is of sufficient size and strength to isolate an enemy, long enough for my forces to take out these bastards. Well, if not remove them utterly from the field of battle, then at the very least cut their numbers and reduce their effectiveness when their magic joins the battle.

My face was stretched in a twisted parody of a smile, as I licked my lips, noting for the first time that my teeth were no longer just teeth, but now something more akin to actual fangs. They had grown, longer and were sharper… similar to the incisors of a Vampire perhaps… but I daresay mine were infinitely sharper. My thoughts became action as the Keeper's Hand swept up a third of my skeletal force taking twelve - a full company - and dropped them in the ranks of the isolated enemy, creating the desired result: Pandemonium.

Skeleton Warriors are much hardier troops for several, important, if simplistic reasons. They are constructed of bones and mana – which gives them a resistance to any kind of slashing or cutting blow. The high infusion of mana in their being means that any magical attack – and all magical attacks are mana based – prove to be far less effective as mana cannot be used to effectively destroy itself. Granted, some mana is of course destroyed as the two separate forms interact, but the majority of it simply fades away, as if erased from existence. And against Warlocks, and most likely the Demon Spawn hidden by the formers invisibility spells, Skeleton Warriors are amongst the best that I can send against them.

The other things that makes mindless – or relatively mindless undead – such effective warriors in general terms is that they will fight and keep fighting, even if a limb happens to get blown or falls off. These semi-mindless types are also far more effective since the only way that they can truly be killed is if they die in combat… it's part of the curse that keeps them bound to me and the Black Flame. They must die with the blood of the enemy upon their blades, or their already tormented souls will be sent screaming in the realms of chaos and darkness, where they will be tortured for an eternity. It's dark, vile magic and I use it because it is what I have to do to return home. Only the Avatar has the keys to unlock the gateways that can return me.

Their sudden appearance in the ranks of the enemy, as they appeared from seemingly nowhere, caused panic, which my skeletons exploited fully, unleashing their full undead, maddened fury upon their enemy, their bone swords singing their way through flesh and bone, cleaving skulls of Warlocks while they also cleaved limbs from bodies of several Demon Spawn. They were well lead it seemed, as their lines reacted quickly, pulling back and contracting as claws flashed against the shields of my Skeleton Warriors, spells hammering in their mana hardened bones. My skeleton warriors would win simply through numerical superiority, a victory I ensured by dropping in another eight Skeleton Warriors at their rear. It looked as if the twelve enemy warriors would last another few minutes before they were slaughtered. Skeleton Warriors are expendable, provided that they get the job done.

With her forces now split and a third of it in the process of being massacred, I turned my attention to where the battle lines would collide, noting with satisfaction that my warriors stood in ranks, the shields of my remaining Skeleton Warriors locked, arm over arm to create a solid wall, with my Bile Demons just ahead of them, where their deadly gas weapons can be deployed to maximum effect. The end of the maze opened in a massive cavern that I had constructed to allow for me to mass my warriors, allowing us to fight as a coordinated team, as opposed to the mixed rabble that my opponent seemed to favor.

The last and closest perimeter alarm trap had been triggered, meaning that they were massed just beyond the final turn in the maze before the exit. Already armed and armored, I had nothing else to do, but to teleport to the front line, where I would lead this assault. But I deliberately teleported to the rear lines of my army as I wanted my warriors to see and know that I fight with them, that I am no high minded, ivory tower intellectual type of Keeper.

There was a subtle nudging amongst my Warlocks and fewer Dragons and Demon Spawn as I moved forward, their ranks parting to let me pass. I shouted to them while I walked amongst them, "Warriors of the Black Flame! Hold your line, and do not falter! If you suddenly feel darkness surround you, if you hear nothing more, if you feel nothing, then you have nothing to fear: For you are already dead!" I heard laughter erupt at that, and it was a good sign. High spirits and morale, with true skill and ability, my warriors would need both, "Hold the line and stay together!"

The enchanted plate armor I wore made every foot fall echo around me, and in my own ears, every step was a crack of thunder, even as I drew my blade, my pet project finally finished. My newest sword bore a heavy wide blade with serration along its length, perfect for ripostes that would tear and shred the flesh they touch, the hooked edges giving off a faint glow, that gave the impression of a sword that pulsed with energy, almost as if it was alive, like the Demon Blade Kulsavar Dietros that had send dozens of Lords, Champions and Heroes to their graves.

I stepped, and my warriors parted like the Red Sea had done before Moses in the Bible. I chuckled quietly, my face hidden behind the helm that left only my eyes visible to the enemy, a fire glowing within them, one that radiated the anger and hatred that I would vent upon my foes. Already, I had called them, and they were scant inches below the surface. I nodded briefly to my Mentors who stood side by side, a deadly duo in any battle for as long as they worked together, exploiting a telepathic link between them.

I focused my energy after clearing my mind as Gazz had told me, and Drahuliska had shown me, and found that both were correct in that the mana was easier to channel, and purer, allowing for faster and certainly more deadly spell casting. The fireball between my hands grew in size, until I commanded it with a whisper, causing it to separate in two, before allowing them both to grow yet again, and then dividing them yet again, until a dozen of the small fire spheres levitated in the air above my left hand, my sword held casually in my right. I twirled it experimentally, as in my mind I registered that the pack of enemies were scant meters from pouring into the cavern, and their doom.

"Stand by!" I shouted to the massed ranks, already taking up defensive formations. It's what my enemy would expect, that we would stand like cliffs before the sea, unmoving and unbreakable, "Shield Line!" Fingers were getting itchy as they could hear the enemy begin their final charge towards us, "Defenses!" As had occurred once before, magic played into place across the front rank of my forces, encasing the entire shield line in a protective layer of mana that shimmered faintly in the air, a gentle golden tinge, like the first rays of a new dawn. On the morrow, it would be a red dawn upon this rock.

The enemy finally cleared into the chamber, spreading out as they charged, their own lines forming on the move, a bestial tide of voices and roars, as they called for our deaths. Their spell fire was woefully thin and spread out to far to do more than bounce off the shields and defensive magic already in place. I said nothing as training and precision caused my forces to act as one, holding the line as one as a blitzkrieg of spells lanced outward, spells sizzling through the air, leaving blurs upon ones retina's as they streaked towards their targets. Most of the opening barrage was absorbed, deflected or dissipated against a myriad of defenses as was expected. My line of shields had taken two steps forward, stomping their feet, signaling their readiness to charge, as the enemy would expect.

They never saw it coming as the second salvo of spells proved to be damningly effective, already weakened shields splintering beneath the second barrage, magical defenses vaporizing beneath the abuse, while my own lines of shields condensed suddenly, the first rank of skeleton warriors dropping to their knees, while the second braced them from behind. They charged into a wall of blades that immediate took its toll, eviscerating and killing, allowing the sour smell of blood and copper to filter through the air, mingling with the aftermath odor of so many spells having been fired in such narrow confines.

Their lack of supporting fire indicated the success of my initial ambush against their supporting troops, and these fools no doubt had no idea that they had no supporting line. Unfortunately, it seemed that I had no skeletons left to complete the encirclement and slaughter of this pestilent foe. No matter. Any unfortunate enough to survive would be offered to the Dark God of Blood, Skulls and Warfare this night, "Second Line!"

Behind me, the third and final line of Skeletons took shape, forming a second shield wall, defensive magic whispering across it, as the first began to buckle beneath the press of bodies that threatened to overwhelm it. I roared once, fire snaking down the length of my gunblade as my shield wall charged forward to meet my enemy, molten fire flying from my hand.

Both forces collided together, the blue and white clad opponents of Keeper Feral breaking like waves upon the rock composed of the moving line of shield that bore the black and gold battle standard of the Black Flame as steel blades crashed against bone sword, blunt maces finding their counterparts, cries of victory, pain and death adding to the noise of bloody close combat. Blood arced through the air, as the Keeper of the Black Flame struck hard, carved open a single opponent, splitting him from crotch to the roof of his mouth, before cleaving into the enemy with a ruthless abandon, as hard training and sparring merged with his already brutal instincts, the beast caged within unleashed.

He sidestepped the arcing slash of claws from an enemy demon spawn, before a backhanded reverse cut separated one of those forelegs from the rest of the creature, before his left hand came up in a brilliant flat-palmed deflection of an enemy bone sword before the heavy blade cleaved in and caught upon the ribs of an enemy skeleton warrior. Keeper Firestorm's eyes burned pure red, even as the skeleton seemed to cackle in glee. It was in that moment that the Keeper of the Black Flame pulled back smoothly with his right forefinger upon the double set trigger.

The Dragon Gunblade roared again, as the internal mechanisms struck the charged powder of a single cartridge that sent the bottled explosive forced down the length of the entire blade, with devastating results. The Skeleton was obliterated, the contained force radiating out of the blade causing a full two second lull in the battle as warriors from both sides stared in shock or horror… where once stood a skeleton, now there were only a pair of shattered leg bones, the rest of the undead abomination having been turned to a cloud of white powder that flirted through the air without a care in the world.

The immense recoil would have broken the wrist and perhaps the bones, in the forearms of any normal, mortal man. But the Keeper's strength proved to be formidable as the weapon barely shook in his single handed grip, even as he leaped up, spun through the air and cut the Demon Spawn he had crippled in half with a second roar from the Dragon Gunblade that merged with his own roared, wordless challenge. The battle was rejoined as both friend and foe gave the walking pillar of steel a wide berth, none eager to have anything to do with the vicious brawler. The entire stunning routine had taken only a matter of seconds.

The battle raged for several more minutes, until the forces of the enemy found themselves fighting back to back, desperately trying to cover each as they were rapidly pushed back to the maze, forming defensive lines, much as the Black Flame had formed at the outset, but refused to push outwards, only cutting those who came close enough as they traded ground for time. In the brief moment of respite, an enemy spell caster channeled up a powerful bolt of lightning and sent it into the thickest concentration of black and gold clad warriors, blasting and hurling them away.

As suddenly as the assault had begun, they began to withdraw and the Keeper of the Black Flame, surrounded by his army, continued his advance towards them, stalking and uncaring as enemy spells swept over him. Gunblade raised high overhead; he swung down at the offending Warlock, cleaving diagonally down through its skull, the blade tearing out where its left hip would have been. Snarling he kicked the corpse towards his retreating foes in disgust. A pathetic excuse for an army. No doubt the result of having a pathetic excuse for a Keeper… but he withheld judgment for the moment, determined to test his mettle against hers in personal combat.

He turned to face his warriors as the remnants fled in to the distance. He roared once and his warriors answered his call. Moving swiftly through the ranks of the dead, those enemy warriors unfortunate enough to be injured were marked for the alters as offerings. Black Flame Imps recovered brother warriors and returned them to their Lairs to rest and heal. The Keeper grinned, and waved his free hand in an intricate pattern, causing his warriors to vanish from sight, plucked up by the Keeper's hand. The enemy had been delivered a severe beating that had left them bloody. Now it was time to take the assault to the enemy and collect their skulls.

7


	21. Chapter 21: Pay Per View for the Gods

**Chapter 21:**

**Pay Per View for the Gods.**

It was during the Ancient War, when the forces of Darkness had nearly overrun the forces once before, that the Dark Gods had looked down upon this particular Keeper, this Keeper Firestorm of the Black Flame Darkness who offered sacrifices with every blow, and every kill that his forces made, for within him, they saw the potential for a new Keeper, to champion their cause: The destruction of the forces of Light. The Dark Gods, most specifically the God of War and Blood, Kharnax had been watching this particular Keeper intensely. Collectively, the Dark Gods saw him as a potential future champion of their cause. In private, Kharnax wanted this Keeper as his Chosen, his own personal champion, and to further this end, had granted numerous blessings upon him that had changed the once young human into something far more fearsome. The blessings of Kharnax had all been useful and worthwhile, but the greatest of these blessings was yet to come.

The Lava River had proven to be of little worth as a defensive barrier, the black and gold clad warriors of the Black Flame had stormed across on their own bridge, laid down by their keeper in the moments after they had been scooped up by the Keeper's Hand, leaving their enemy little time to rally a defense against the ingenious assault that now approached their Dungeon. The Champions of the Count of Deception and Lies, the Dark God Enkasmine were stunned in inaction as the armored Trolls of the Black Flame charged with their war hammers swinging like whips that caused armor to break and bone to shatter. The Troll's heavy armor blocked mace and turned sword away with astounding ease, turning what should have been a battle to a bloody slaughter. One such Troll laid about him with a massive two-handed war hammer, shattering the face of a Demon Spawn as his fellow Trolls proceeded to lay waste to the rest of the Demon Spawn pack.

Their armor was comparable to that of Dark Berserkers of the Ancient War, so many generations ago, and like that armor still suffered from the same fatal flaw: Magic. The pack of blood enraged Trolls charged forward, headless of the danger that waited ahead, as an entire group of spell casting Warlocks and Dragons stood their ground, and collectively opened their eyes, throwing their arms out in front of them to unleash a wall of blinding wave of blue and white elemental carnage. The unrivaled fury of lightning rivaled the bloodshed caused by the Trolls as bolts of furious energy jumped from one to the next in an echoing wave of destructive energy, sending them crashing to the ground, their muscles jerking like marionettes in the hands of a mad puppet master, their eyes burned away by the heat, their brains boiled away within their skulls. While the Trolls had fallen, they had completed their task, having ripped an opening in the defensive lines through which the Black Flame poured like water through a hole in a damn.

The warriors of the Black Flame had mercilessly expunged every opposing warrior that crossed their path, even those that were running in fear. Not that many of the warriors of the White Death wanted anything to do with the bloodlust maddened Keeper of the Black Flame, who attacked and slew his way through any and all that dared to challenge him. The attack of Keeper Feral, Champion of Enkasmine, had been turned back after a mere nine minute assault. And they had retreated across the river, only to be dogged by the warriors of the Black Flame, along their entire line of retreat. The end result being that the forces of the Keeper Feral had lost nearly a further quarter of their remaining strength. Combined with their losses in the abortive assault, it left them with perhaps half their original strength.

Although reduced to half strength, their retreat had allowed many of their warriors to disappear within the walls of their own Dungeon, with only a few remaining exposed, fighting a desperate rearguard holding action while the rest conducted a tactical withdrawal to reform their own lines and prepare to meet the Black Flame head to head, yet again. The few rearguard defenders were of little consequence, as the Keeper stalked forward, his weapon carving through all who stood in his path, even as he growled in irritation, growing bored of killing the minor, miscellaneous rabble of this White Death, who offered no challenge and, more importantly, no sport.

He wanted to face off against the his rival Keeper. She would be a worthy opponent. All else she had to offer were, at best, poorly trained scum that had done little more than irritate him, setting the muscles in his body thrumming with the same red fury and anger that also painted his vision. Like the numberless grains of sand upon the seashore, he let his warriors fall, knowing that their deaths were in the service of Kharnax, offering up twice as many enemy skulls.

The rage gnawed mercilessly in the hollow pit of his stomach, ravenous and wild, with a cataclysmic fervor, growing into something greater than hunger, a raging inferno that demands blood and carnage to be sated and momentarily satisfied. He roared his challenge, as muscles bulged dangerously, the power of the Dark God Kharnax growing within him, "Keeper Feral! I call you out! I tire of slaughtering your pathetic minions who offer no challenge. Cease cowering and come out of your Dungeon Heart! Possess one of your minions! Face me, and die as a Keeper should, as a Champion of one of the Dark Gods, you worthless, horse humping bitch!"

The smell of the burnt flesh mingled with the coppery taste of blood, heavy in the air, and the acrid odors, the remnants of the hundreds of spells that had been hurled back and forth by the two factions, embroiled in total war. The Challenge had been laid down, and for the warriors of both sides, that had fought with unimaginable naked ferocity, they could sense that the end was drawing near.

Keeper Feral understood the challenge as well as any other warrior did. The challenge meant that the battle would be between the two rival Keepers, the fate of their empires resting on the outcome of a single solitary duel. Where the forces of Light saw those of darkness as nothing more than mindless rabble, the forces of Dark had their own ways, a twisted version of honor, but it was the way laid down by the Dark Gods themselves, and it is obeyed without question.

The rival Keeper was someone who could be truly described as a magnificent, untouchable mystery, with eyes the color of jade that seemed to be backlit from some otherworldly light, almost electric, and they seemed to glow with that light in the dimly lit interior of her Dungeon Heart. She growled, almost dragon like as she hefted her heavy staff, with its stylized twelve pointed star. The staff looked as if it was composed of nothing but ancient tree roots that had been twisted together. She hefted the staff, and waved her hand over one end, smiling to herself as it burst into flame that mirrored the ethereal color within her eyes.

She would have scant minutes to prepare herself, and focus her magical energies, to prepare for the coming duel. For the Black Flame had not bothered to stop, had not held its ground, simply advancing in her Dungeon after the challenge had been laid down. They continued to slaughter any of her warriors that stood against the Black Flame. Keeper Firestorm, his armor and blade stained red from the slaughter, stood at the forefront of his forces, a demonic smile upon his face. She possessed the body of the slumbering sorceress, held in stasis for precisely such occasions.

From a doorway to their left, a pair of doglike Demon Spawn looped forward, snarling, claws ready as a Dragon stood farther back and unleashed a breath of hellfire that washed over the immune Demon Spawn, in an attempt to immolate him. The fires failed to do him harm, as he raised a hand, conjuring a magical barrier that absorbed the fires, even as he sidestepped the first of the Demon Spawn to execute a rising slash that eviscerated the second, opening up its belly, causing its internal orgasm to decorate the floor as it gasped once before falling to the ground. The fires deflected, he swept low, grabbed the demon spawn by the tail, and swung it, like a whip overhead, before letting it fly. The unfortunate creature whined piteously before it struck the Lava River, and sank beneath it, striking the bottom of the river some ten feet below, its skeleton collapsing under the brutal impact.

His forces advanced through her Dungeon, despoiling every room they entered, the corrupting influence of his imps rapidly destroying the mana connection between Keeper Feral and her underground domain. But it mattered little as the two finally stood and faced off against each other in a depleted Treasure Room, the gold and jewels, wealth mined from the soft rock, having already been pillaged or carted back to his Dungeon. He towered over her, standing close to a foot and a half taller than her, as he glared down at her, obsidian black orbs that were his eyes with their fires dancing within his pupils, meeting her glowing green eyes, "You are the leader of this pathetic excuse for an army?"

The remnants of her own warriors stood arrayed around her, weapons and spells at the ready, as she replied, refusing to rise to the bait he had laid down. Where he excelled, using his anger and fury to slaughter his opponents, she was colder, and far more calculating, "I am. And you are the leader of those who have come this far. You have done well, but not well enough! You dare call yourself Keeper? You dare challenge me?"

He growled, as he stalked forward, the weapon held single-handed, blood and chunks of flesh having dried to the massive weapon, the serrated hooks along the blade's edge having cut and torn through dozens of her warriors. "I will offer your skull up to the Gods…. Once you have begged sufficiently for death, which will be a long time coming!"

She smiled, a cold smile that would have frozen a fire, "You can try, whelp," she held her staff before her, "I'll cut you limb from limb, and offer your blood up as a sacrifice to the Gods," she waved her hands over the stylized twelve pointed star, and her smile grew wider as it changed shape, the blackened tree roots becoming tempered steel, and the star fading away, to be replaced by heavy blades, the color of corroded metal, dripping green poison that smoked and hissed as it struck the stone floor by her feet. She summoned up a powerful spell, channeling the energy as she took careful aim, voice cooler than the smoke off dry ice, "You have stood against me for far too long! Come, you whelp. The gods await your blood this night!"

The survivors of both armies formed crescent shapes around their leaders, and began to hammer their weapons together, or stamp their feet against the stone ground, chanting the names of their respective leaders, as both Keepers stepped forth, standing in a circle roughly fifteen feet in diameter. It has been said that a contest of skill between staff and sword will never last more than several minutes, and that is a spoken truth. Feral unleashed a mixed volley of white and red as ice and fire shrieked towards Firestorm, who sidestepped the rolling balls of fire, raising his gunblade deftly to present the flat of it to the ice bolts which shattered against it. He roared as he charged, leaping off the ground, as he spun in a counter clockwise direction adding speed and momentum to his strike.

She stood her ground, and twirled her staff in an intricate pattern. A barrage of icicles flew toward him, most shattering against his demonic armor, but two of the projectiles succeeded in cutting through the shoulder guard on his left shoulder, which bled freely, blood hissing as it trailed down his armor, not that it slowed his momentum any, as she raised her bladed staff, catching the blade of his sword against it.

At such close range, their faces were only inches apart as they both strained, desperate to break the sudden deadlock. His mouth opened, like the maw of a creature from the depths of the sea, and his tongue lanced out like a barbed dagger, aimed at her eyes. She jerked her head to the side, hissing in pain as his knife like tongue ripped open her cheek, blood flowing down her face as if she wept tears of blood from just her left eye. His tongue snaked back in to his mouth, and he tasted her blood and the magical power latent with it. She was more of a spell caster than a true brawler. He made the demonic equivalent of a mental note of the fact, but the split second of distraction cost him.

Her head jerked forward in a sudden and brutally effective head butt that hammered the helm he wore, bending it out of shape, the metal giving way as the strength of her blow shattered the bones in his nose, causing blood to stream down his face as they broke apart and stepped back. She carefully measured her foe, before she leaped, going on the attack, her magic having transformed the staff in a massive war hammer that swung in a murderous, swooping arc.

He scissor-stepped but knew he could not avoid the return blow as she slammed the shaft of the weapon in his face, jerking his head back as he fell, twisting to the floor. Snarling, from where he lay, he threw his weapon, and she barely deflected the unexpected attack, and its distraction proved to be sufficient as he pushed himself off the floor with his hands, driving himself like a missile feet first into her chest. He felt several of her ribs crack and several more shatter, under the heavy blow, knocking her from her feet and on her back, her weapon rolling just out of her reach.

Back on his feet in moments, he drove an armored foot like a truck in her guts, sending her sliding back along the floor until she came to rest at the far edge of their circle, where his warriors leered down upon her most with lecherous intent. She mumbled the incantation of a healing spell, allowing its magic to mend her broken ribs. He had waited, almost as if he was toying with her, removing his battered and dented helm to reveal the eyes of a true killer, black without mercy or pity, hair cropped close to his head, teeth like fangs which he bared in the gross parody of a human smile, "Come to me, my little baby. Come to your daddy."

She snarled at what she knew was an insult, even though she could not fully grasp its meaning, "I will leave your dungeon a crumbling ruin and feast on your entrails," she rose back to her feet, hands already moving to summon a powerful time distorting magic to her aid, hissing as she did so, "and I shall keep you alive, so that you can savor the experience!"

The vortex launched across the narrow open space that separated the two combatants, seemingly devouring anything that had physical presence. He had seen her casting and leaped upwards and to the side, having anticipated the deadly Vortex Grenade spell, but she had anticipated him. The deadly spell slammed into him, and he roared in pain as the vortex seemed to grind the bones within his flesh, dropping like an unstrung puppet, his weapon falling out of reach.

Crawling back to his knees, he found himself looking up and staring in her eyes, now ice blue, and just as cold, "I keep my promises." She lashed out with a hard standing side kick, which slammed in to his face, back flipping him with cataclysmic force. Being flung across a room tends to hurt, but it is nothing in comparison to the landing. Keeper Firestorm proved this true as he felt his arm first crack and then shatter, as he struck the wall, grinding through the stone, cutting a scar in its perfect surface, for several feet before falling to the floor. Smoke and dust filled the air from the broken wall, obscuring his vision somewhat, making it harder to breathe. But he heard her running start and caught the glimpse of her as she closed in, her foot, raised to strike him full on in the face.

Rising up, he crossed his one good arm across his chest and caught her descending foot, using it as leverage to pull her in close and to pull himself upright while he lunged forward like a spear, driving his armored shoulder into her stomach, knocking the wind from her in a gasp. Pouncing atop her, he wrapped a length of her auburn hair around his fist and drove her face first in to the unforgiving stone ground, "You! Do! Not! Know! Who! You! Fuck! With!"

Letting go of her hair, he walked away from her prone form, as she twitched, her fingers desperately calling up a spell. He wore an amused smile and chuckled, before stomping down on her exposed hand, the sounds of fingers being crushed audible to all who surrounded them. The rage that sang its pleasure in his blood filled him with undeniable power, a blessing and a boon from Kharnax, who was no doubt watching this contest of skill. Recovering his weapon, he broke it open along its chamber to drop the dozen spent cartridges of power and slap home a dozen new ones. Closing the chamber along its seal, he looked over at her, as she lay there, broken and bloodied, struggling to regain her feet, even as he stood over her, "Kharnax likes blood, but he also really likes offerings that come from the would be Champions of other Dark Gods."

He growled wordlessly as he raised his blade high overhead, and let it fall, hard and fast, as she spat a single word in the language of the Dark Gods. Its appearance was sudden. The black smoky clawed hand came from nowhere, and grasped his blade barring its descent which gave her the opportunity to roll clear. Eyes bulging in fury, he jerked hard on the trigger, and the demonic hand was obliterated in to wisps of fine smoke.

Her roll had been calculated and it was successful, as it placed her within reach of her staff. Blood flowed freely from her numerous wounds, her crippled hand slowing her down even as she called upon the lesser demons, opening a gateway between this realm and that of the Gods. They cackled madly as they approached, their forms ever shifting from one to another, while they hurled raw, elemental magic from their multi-joined fingers. The energy seemed to bypass his armor to tear at the flesh beneath, scoring a deep blow across his thigh and another across his chest but he barely noticed, and uncaring threw himself into the attack once more, forsaking any pretense of defense.

Keeper Firestorm roared as he ploughed through the creatures with every swipe of his sword, cutting through the forms of the creatures, pulling back on the trigger with every strike, expending the charges of magic in his weapon, thereby ensuring that the Wisp Demons could not reform, the physical bodies scattered to nothingness, their essence sent screaming back to where it had come from. The host of Demons had merely delayed him momentarily, as he continued his advance upon her, as she spat a pair of curses at him, which he easily deflected with his own magic. As her final spell spluttered and fizzled before his eyes, her eyes suddenly filled with shock, followed by fear, "Magic…" he mused, a deep growl, "Magic is for those to weak to wield a weapon and face their foes upon the battlefield, and to slay them face to face. You cower behind your spells, and you still cannot defeat me. The Gods no longer favor you! I am their Champion now!"

He noted with satisfaction the fear in her eyes had changed to that of rage, finally. He saw it within her, the shift in her aura as she grasped her staff, its forms warping to the war hammer she had wielded once before. She stood, then charged towards him wordless, soundless and silent, with all the strength she could muster. Firestorm met the blow head-on; parrying it and sending a brutal riposte that should have persuaded Keeper Feral's head to part company with her shoulders. She ducked underneath and rammed her staff up in the belly of the Keeper of the Black Flame, finally shattering the armor plates and driving in the flesh beneath. He grunted in pain, but had deliberately taken the blow. He struck the back of her head with the hilt of his blade, before wrapping his arms around her throat, deliberately falling backwards using his massive frame and weight to drive her, head first yet again, in to the stone floor.

The sheer brutality of that one blow was sufficient, as he rose back to his feet. She lay there, twitching feebly, her fingers scrabbling along the stone floor, desperately searching, only to find his foot resting upon the shaft of her weapon. She looked up at him from behind a bloody mask, and she could see the raised blade that was her end. She met her fate with her eyes open. The blade fell, with a rush of wind as he channeled his anger and hate in the blow, a roar escaping his maw as he did so. The blade carved through her flesh and bone, splitting her from crown to jaw. It was done.

Satisfied, he pulled the Dragon Gunblade from her head and stepped back two paces while a white light seemed to erupt from the core of her being, shooting upwards through the stone ceiling overhead, no doubt heading skyward in a gentle series of spirals and curls that floated around her with a gentleness that defied the cold anger and hatred that had poisoned her soul for so long.

He looked over at the warriors that had once been hers, this Dungeon, and roared, "I am Keeper Firestorm, Lord and Master of the Black Flame! Does anyone else date to challenge me?" He stalked towards them, and to their credit, they held their ground instead of shrinking away in fear. He glared in the eyes of a Warlock, "Gather ten warriors and bring them to me! Now!" he barked.

He fled to his task, and within moments, there was a line of warriors who refused to meet his gaze. Without ceremony, his weapon lashed out, slitting the throat of the first, "Join me, or face me. Make your choice." It was hardly a decision that required any sort of consideration or thought. His murder of their keeper meant that he had defeated them all. They submitted with no further resistance, he grinned as his ranks swelled by another full fifteen warriors, and he gave them their first order, "Shatter her Dungeon Heart, and then cross the river by my bridge. I will be awaiting you there."

They hurried to their task, and his warriors were at the outskirts of what was once an enemy dungeon when a tortured roar and a deafening explosion ripped the air, as the enemy Dungeon Heart collapsed in upon itself, the blast shaking the walls and ceiling around them. When a Keeper's Dungeon Heart dies, its almost as if it tries to take as much of its surroundings as possible, almost as if its trying to kill those who failed to protect it, in addition to those who have killed it. Of the fifteen warriors who had destroyed the Dungeon Heart, perhaps three or four would escape its fury. He stood, the fires across the river mirroring those in his eyes while the Warlocks, Bile Demons and Trolls of the Black Flame watched the failing Dungeon Heart vaporize everything that stood within nearly twenty feet around it. The flare continued to burn but grew weaker in its intensity, the red glare taking on a whitish color as it continued to consume the surrounding rock walls, and ceilings collapsing, the magical reinforcements upon them fading away to nothingness.

The Keeper of the Black Flame had truly proven his worth.

7


	22. Chapter 22: The Beginning of the End

**Chapter 22:**

**The Beginning of the End**

I don't know how long it has been since I last saw a human face that I did not hack apart and leave as a bloody corpse. What I do think I know is that it has been approximately three weeks since Keeper Feral offered her blood and skull as a sacrifice to the Dark God of Warfare and Bloodshed, Kharnax. Admittedly, the past week has proven to be less than ideal for me and my warriors. Our arrival in this new land was prematurely interrupted, and I was nearly routed before I could muster sufficient reinforcements from the rest of my empire. If I could simply move my warriors from the others "lands" within my empire, crushing this pest would not prove to be so difficult. Ironically, I would be using the same tactic that my former opponent had attempted to use, and failed miserably at employing.

The Keeper in this land was aligned to a different Dark God. I think that the Dark Blue that enshrouded his warriors had marked that particular Keeper as a follower of the Arch-Mage of the Burning Legion, a Human who had ascended to the rank of God some thousand years ago: Jungald. His forces had been true masters of magic, and we had taken more than a half dozen of them captive. For the moment, however, I had no idea why I bothered to keep any of them alive. They had fallen with surprising ease, but as they were followers of Jungald, they had lacked any real melee ability. They collapsed like a house of cards before my assault.

Those poor unfortunate souls did not even have sufficient time to reinforce the walls of their Dungeon before my Imps had tunneled into their dungeon and also directly to their Heart Chamber. My own forces had obliterated the pest in hours, and I had not even been concerned with giving the rival Keeper a chance to duel me, as I have the Lord of the Land baying at my heels like a bloodthirsty wolf. I had no idea what to do with those magic users still rotting in my Prison. Sacrificing them would solve the problem, as would letting them stay in my prison. But that's a minor, left over kind of issue that I have to deal with at some point and I am in no rush to dispose of those captive bright minds.

The Lord of this particular land however is definitely in a league of his own. Thus far his forces had proven to be far superior to any others that I had encountered. His Dwarves were strong and extremely capable with both axe and shield. Furthermore, his damned rouges and thieves made effective use of the shadows, using them to strike at the vulnerable back and flanks of my warriors whenever we attempted to ambush them. My warriors had been encircled and in one case cut to shreds. In other scenarios, we had kept our losses to a minimum, and we have been slowly bleeding my enemy's forces down… but battlefield attrition would take a long time to have any significant impact upon the numbers or the morale of his forces.

His forces seem to be the kind that nobody wants to face, being both numerous and well trained warriors, as opposed to massed ranks of rabble that he can throw at me, unlike the former Keeper Feral from the Land of Lush-Meadow-on-Down. We had taken the liberty of renaming that particular place "Stomped-into-the-Ground," considering that is actually all that remained of the already despoiled place. Keeper Feral had turned the land above in a completely barren wasteland with nothing living beneath the murky sky above. Dead marshes still show more life than the remnants of Lush-Meadow-on-Down. I sighed, wishing that I had some of my higher intelligent minions with me.

The name is fitting as there is now an extremely large crater, twenty meters in diameter, and extremely deep, considering that the raw elemental nova burned directly through the ceiling of the cavern and opened up a passage way to the land above, which also revealed the skies where the three moons of this world hung. They had hung static since my arrival, unwavering and unshifting, as if they had been pinned in place. But they had shifted recently, the moon that had seemed to be closest to the ground, the Blood Moon that glared down, spilling its red blood-like glow across the landscape, also known as the Moon of Chaos, having faded away. Its presence was fickle, at times not being seen for months or, according to the histories, even years. And it is said that its appearance always heralds a time of strength and celebration for all the forces of Dark, regardless of which Dark God one would worship or have as patron. Its sudden disappearance, leaving the Moon of Light and the Moon of Balance in the night sky, the former to the East, and the latter to the West was said to be a warning of dangerous times ahead for those who had forsaken the light and served Darkness

I find it rather strange that even without another Keeper present in this land, that it is difficult to actually attract Demon Spawn. The supporting ranks of my army in this particular realm are far weaker than I would prefer them to be. Fortunately, it is not the result of something I have done, as my control over the actual physical geography of the underground is nonexistent. Instead of having a Lava River, along with its highly sulfurous fumes, what I have is a massive underground lake, large enough for an island to exist in the center of it. The water filled lake seems to be a significant negative factor when it comes to attracting Demon Spawn that all have a strong preference for hot, fiery lava.

On the far side of the lake are the remains of the Jungald follower's dungeon, along with the accursed gates that the heroes were using to enter the underground, and the sheer openness of the territory meant that ambushes were harder to carry out, almost every ambush had to take place in the maze of tunnels and traps that were ridiculously short, and it was almost simplistic to find one's way through. I had turned back, thus far, three scouting parties, the third having been successful in locating the entrance to the Maze that lead to my Dungeon. Even though they had not found their way through the maze, they had already found my Dungeon, and I don't have much time before he comes with his entire army at his back. Already, he has staged three unsuccessful raids against my Dungeon, but his third and final raid proved to be the one that came closest to success as they nearly took out my Master Researcher in exchange for more than half their number. If Drahuliska had fallen, I suppose you could say that it would have been a fair trade – fifteen enemy warriors for one of mine.

He had suffered greatly, but had survived just barely. Considering that the Fairies had targeted him specifically with three different forms of elemental magic had made it impossible to defend against all three simultaneously. The blasts of fire, bolts of lightning and spears of ice had hammered his frame, the ice having hit first, encasing him in a block of ice, seconds before the flames had struck, seconds behind the lightning bolts, causing the ice to melt in time to conduct the lightning bolts before it evaporated. Never have I seen any creature receive and survive such elemental abuse. He had nearly exploded from the inside out from the sheer elemental fury that had been forced into him – and the rents in his body had bled both blood and mana. Much to my annoyance, he is still in extremely poor shape. I've left him temporarily in charge of the administration of my empire as a whole while I lead the push upon this land with Gazz. I cannot deny that I like this dragon, as he has a vicious sense of humor that he used for his own personal amusement, but also to motivate researchers in the absence of Drahuliska's presence.

Research as a result, was much slower than it would have otherwise been. Don't get me wrong, but a Dragon does not inspire Warlocks in the same way that Warlocks can inspire their own. Drahuliska will rejoin us as soon as he is able, and he knows that the sooner he returns, the less likely it is that I will appoint a replacement. He was incapacitated at a less than opportune time as they were close to perfecting a spell that would allow me to hurl raw lightning as a weapon to stun and even kill if necessary. Its power cannot be understated as it has been employed to stun entire parties of raiding heroes. But at the moment, its somewhat time consuming to cast, draining and most annoyingly of all, rather difficult to aim. Perfecting the spell would negate the trio of flaws. The only drawback was the mana cost as it was more "expensive" than any other spell within my arsenal. Fortunately, I can use it several times in rapid succession, allowing me to stun and disable while my minions clean them out, and the lack of Demon Spawn forces me to use this spell to support my warriors in battle. If that injured Warlock of mine does not get back on his feet soon, it is definitely going to make supporting an assault all the more taxing.

It was sudden and unexpected when the Perimeter Alarms went off, those that were at the far end of the maze. I growled in aggravation, but I found myself gaining a healthy measure of respect for my opponent in this land. He has courage and he does not know when to quit. Three assaults, and we'd broken and turned him back on all three occasions, without him ever finding his way into the Dungeon proper. But this time, he was leading the pack of rabble himself. Now this works in my favor. He has come down here to face me and I am going to take him alive. For all the grief that he has caused me, I intend to ensure that he dies a long slow death. I'll keep him alive, in my prison, just barely alive so that when I get a Torture Chamber, I will have a "test case" to carry out a scientific experiment: How much torture can one man stand before he goes insane.

My warriors formed their lines, the Bile Demons at the forefront, with the Skeletons standing with their shields already raised upon one arm, spells at the ready on their other, as my few Warlocks and short staffed supporting warriors prepared their deadly barrages of spells. My lines were perilously thin in more than one area, and I had no intention of actually letting these weaknesses be discovered. They were coming close, if they took the right turn at the next set of crossroads in the maze… and they made the correct left turn. It was then that I spied him: my opponent, the Lord of the Land, leading the charge yet again. I would get my wish to face him in single combat for these overly patriotic light blinded fools cannot back down from any challenge. I took a special note of the sword he wielded, considering it gave of a deep shimmering glow that came from the heart of the blade. There were only fifteen of such blades in existence: Azure-Wrath Crystal Blade.

The Azure-Wrath is created through a mix of artifice and magic in a process that is similar to that which had created my own blade. Where their blades were crafted from blessed crystals and folded in steel and quenched in thrice blessed holy water, with the power to slay an Avatar of a Dark God or even a True Demon, mine is almost the exact opposite. I can't use weapons of light just because they don't feel comfortable, but there's that minor problem where the sheer holiness and purity of those weapons makes them hurt when they come in contact with my skin. That's what would happen if I were to hold a weapon of such purity. I don't intend to find out what happens if that blade were to pierce my flesh and strike the bone beneath.

From the Dungeon Heart, I unleashed the full power of the spells at my disposal. The defensive magic setup playing across my forces as they moved in position to greet this menace, as we had done before when they walked through the doorway that lead to my Dungeon. From the Dungeon Heart, I watched with a fair amount of amusement as The Lord of the Land and his warriors set off one trap after another, lightning arcing through the air around them, leaving many of them nursing burns and, in two separate cases, corpses as the armor strapped to a Dwarf and a Rouge overcharged, causing them to explode like overripe tomatoes, spraying their entrails across their fellows, and along the walls of the maze, giving my maze something of a lived in feeling. Interior design, I'll grant you, was never my strong suit and it never will be, in spite of the fact that I rule an empire that for sheer size rivals that of many modern day countries.

The wall formed by my warriors buckled under the furious assault as my foes threw themselves bodily upon the shields of my skeleton warriors in a do or die charge, while my Bile Demon's swatted a number of Dwarves desperate to break my lines into the ground. This is a fight that I had been looking forward to. Teleporting from the Dungeon Heart, I did not bother wasting any more of my time, my weapon ready, as I arrived directly in to the heart of the melee, to begin a dance of death against these bastards who dared to trespass upon the Keeper's domain.

The ravenous hunger within him erupted again; a red haze clouded his vision, as he surrendered himself to the Blood Rage. His demonic gunblade swung and the strength behind the blow cleaved through the neck of a single Dwarf before embedding itself in the torso of a neighboring thief with sword raised overhead in mid charge. He looked down at the blade that emerged from his side, his heart already cloven in two, an expression of surprise and confusion written upon his expression. The light in the man's eyes had yet to fade as Keeper Firestorm pulled back upon the double set trigger, blasting the remnants of the man off his blade, spraying chunks of gore with accompanying artillery like sprays of blood in an outward arc.

The Dark God Kharnax watched with undisguised interest as this Keeper sacrificed more and more heroes in his name. This Keeper possessed true strength and true belief in his cause. He gave himself completely to the rage, his free hand rising and unleashing a plethora of elemental fury. The lightning bolts streaked outward, crackling and sparking as they took on a slight blue tinge, supercharging the armor clad heroes and blasting them backwards. A massive volley of fire-coated spears emerging from the air around him as they carved down a pair of enemy Fairies, who had taken aim at him.

In the few seconds since the Keeper had erupted into battle, carving down the few opponents who had been closest to him, his warriors had charged forward, close enough so that it could be said that they fought, shoulder to shoulder with him, while remaining beyond the reach of him and his weapon. None of the heroes wanted anything to do with him, as they fell back before his advance, even as they slowed the momentum of his minions advance. He cut a bloody swath through any who dared to stand against him.

A seemingly invincible whirling juggernaut of swordplay and magic pushed forward, striking down foes just like the farmer's scythe would carve down wheat. None were spared. And his sudden fall surprised all, as he dropped to his knees suddenly, his blade clattering to the floor next to his feet. His face rippling with pain, as if something within his skin sought to break through. Even as it faded from his face, leaving him looking relatively normal, were it not for his eyes, their obsidian shade lightened only by the demonic hell fires that burned from within.

As if he was no longer in control of his own body his back arched as his bones seemed to break and reform, hardening until their sheer strength and solidity bordered upon indestructibility. Where other Keepers had tried, more than one had failed to rise above mediocrity, but Kharnax had made his decision and the Keeper of the Black Flame would be _his _Chosen to spread fire, blood and death, and to secure a base of power for Kharnax, once the Dungeon Keeper was sent home. Kharnax, the Dark God of War and Bloodshed bestowed his blessing upon Keeper Firestorm, making him something greater than human and keeper: A Demon Prince.

Kharnax grinned, revealing blade like teeth even as excruciating, mind numbing pain ripped through the body of his Chosen, as if Keeper Firestorm's nerves were being flayed with broken glass. His Chosen felt it growing with in him, as if another person was growing outward from his spine. The armor upon his back exploded as demonic wings emerged, releasing a shockwave of raw demonic energy that burned all it touched, searing flesh to dust and blackening the skeletal remnants of those who had stood too close irrespective of whether they were minions or foe.

From his lower back, skeletal appendages, like bone wings, erupted in a spray of black, bubbling blood as their sharpened serrated ends folded upwards. Both pair of wings retracted as he was granted full control of his demonic form, the scream of pain that had escaped his throat fading away. The mortal Keeper Firestorm of the Black Flame no longer existed, as flames licked at his feet. His heavy clawed hand wrapped around the handle of his weapon as he rose, taking two steps forward, leaving footprints outlined with burning flames upon the cold stone floor.

Two bat-like wings stood proud behind his shoulders, their points rising almost a full two feet over his head, just as well, for their wingspan would have been close to fifteen feet. Their skin was a rich dark color that seemed to shimmer and alternate between a deep burgundy red with gold flecking and an ash black and grey. The wings were heavily veined and muscled with inner bones. They were longer than a human thigh bone but far more slender and still harder than steel with sharp points that threatened to break through the sandpaper like surface.

The skeletal limbs that had erupted from his lower spine were not so much additional arms or legs. *The bones were much like those of his wings, but the sheer serration of their points made clear these were weapons that could lash out with the speed and destructive force.

He roared, and his warriors roared along with him, the combined crescendo cracking the stone in the ceiling and the floor below. He lashed out with his bladed weapon, felling a pair of Dwarves in a single swipe, before he ducked low and lashed out again, his blade clashing against that of a Thief for several brief seconds before he pulled back upon the trigger, the concussive force exploding down the length of his own weapon, shattering the Rouge, who stared dumbfounded for a moment while his legs fell to the floor, severed at the hip before one of the skeletal limbs lashed out, impaling him through the chest. A heavy armor clad foot rose and hovered over the skull of another Dwarf, maimed by the blast of power before the same foot crushed the skull to spray bone and grey matter across the floor in an explosive arc. The Demon Price of Kharnax roared yet again as he stomped forward, hacking, and slicing, even as a fiery barrage of spells hammered against his armor, tearing through the armor upon his right shoulder and arm leaving black scorches across his demonic skin.

The blood rage had him in its entirety, and he shrugged off what would have otherwise been a immolating barrage of magic, as his own left hand lanced out, sending a spray of hellfire from his palm in a burning arc. The heroes reacted with both skill and precision, closing ranks, shields played across the front ranks of their forces, deflecting his immolating blaze after which the heroes responded with their own barrage of arrows and spells. They did no more than tear open minor wounds that dripped blood for several short moments before beginning to heal upon the Demon Prince of Kharnax. The barrage was far more effective against the Demon Prince's army.

The barrage thinned their ranks with brutal effectiveness, leveling nearly half his forces. The warriors of the Demon Prince had neither the boon nor blessing to resist the barrage. They fell. The blood rage still upon him, he charged forward, the weapon he wielded coming down in a murderous swing that clashed against their magical barriers, and actually held the blade for an instant, before it clove through and slammed home. The flagstones crumbled and broke beneath the furious assault, as he roared two words in the language of the demons.

The resulting shockwave threw the warriors of light backwards, several cart wheeling through the air, as others were left dazed by the furious assault. The reinforced walls and ceiling within in the relatively narrow corridor crumbled, the magic bound in the earth and stone vaporized by the display of destructive fury. Not even his own warriors were spared, as the few closest to him were erased. Only a group of five, heavily armored, sword and shield bearing men stood against the assault, standing firm, as their blades rose and they roared a wordless challenge, and stormed forward, the Azure-Wrath amongst the five blades, making it clear that the Lord of the Land and his honor guard now challenged the Demon Prince of Kharnax.

Demon Prince Firestorm grinned savagely as the group of knights charged towards him. How he would enjoy this. The group split up, seeking to attack him from three sides at once. Five opponents against himself made it a fair fight, for only the Azure-Wrath Crystal blade could truly harm him. He would have to be wary of that one. They closed and lashed out collectively as one, five blades flashing towards him from five different angles. For a monstrosity of his size, he demonstrated near unmatched agility, as he spun low, causing their blades to intercept in the space where he once stood, even as he reversed his grip upon his gunblade and drove it in to the chest of one of his attackers. The momentum of his attack coupled with the human's own momentum was more than sufficient to drive the blade, shatter the armor plates he wore and impale the little man. Blood spurted and trickled down the side of its mouth as one of the skeletal appendages of the Demon Price hacked into one of his remaining foes, ripping plate armor open even while the toxins, more akin to acid, began to corrode and burn the metal they touched and scour the flesh clean from the bones beneath.

Launching himself upwards from his crouch, he tore his blade and skeletal appendages from the corpses of the trio and he spread his wings, taking flight, beating them back and forth as he took aim and launched himself downwards with the speed of a hunting falcon, weapon raised as the Lord of the Land, leaped up to meet him, the Azure-Wrath Crystal blade glowing brightly as the Lord of the Land had channeled his faith in the weapon to create something that could truly kill a Demon Prince. The meeting of the two blades was louder than the crash of the gates of hell as the two spun, nearly out of control, their eyes locked even as they both held their blades one handed and began pummeling each other with their one free fist. The Demon Prince slammed back first in the wall, his wings still spread out behind him, the earth crumbling beneath close to a ton of demonic muscle and sinew. But the bones of a demon are not like that of man, the impact merely jarring him, and they continued to rain blows upon each other, neither man nor demon willing to give a solitary inch.

7


	23. Chapter 23: Blood and Skulls

**Chapter 23:**

**Blood and Skulls**

The faces of both were soon covered in blood, but it mattered little as the Demon Prince only saw red. Both men lunged forward at the same time, and their skulls bounced off each others, their necks snapping back with enough force to kill a normal man. Keeper Firestorm roared his fury, revealing a mouth filled with razor sharp teeth, even as he drove his forehead in the helm of the Lord of the Land again and again, ignoring the blistering of his own armor like skin caused by the purity of the weapon held inches from his face.

The metal helm began to give way underneath the fury of blows the demonic keeper had landed, uncaring of the edges of broken metal that cut into his face, swords still crossed, their muscles straining against each other, neither one interested in breaking the deadlock. Finally, however, the Demon Prince went to the well once too often, as the Lord of the Land reacted finally, burying a knee in the gut of his opponent and using that to springboard back on to the ground, in a defensive posture, legs spread, one knee bent ready to pounce, his blade held upright, "Face the wrath of a warrior of light!"

"I will feast upon your soul in the realm of the Dark Gods you puny mortal!" was the reply, as the Keeper extricated himself from the wall, leaving a massive crater, nearly three feet deep in the hard packed earth. Empowered by unbridled rage singing through his muscles, he drove forward, crossing swords with the Lord yet again. He lashed out with both of the bone appendages, blocking the attempted backstab by the last man of the honor guard left alive, punching through his armor and in his stomach to come to a jarring halt against the man's spinal cord, before dropping the broken body to the ground.

Firestorm pushed back the Lord of the Land, opening up a narrow gap between the two of them that was enough for him to lash out with one bloody, flesh encrusted appendage. Amazingly enough, the Lord was able to twist to the side, and slide his blade along that of the Keeper, to deflect the blow. Faces inches apart from one another, Firestorm's pulled in to a mocking smile, "You have skill, I'll grant you that," even as the Lord of the Land pushed back, muscles tensing against the strength of the demon before him, "Do you have a name?"

"I am Lord Antonidus, hellspawn, and I will slay you!" he growled, even as their warriors continued to cross blade and trade spell fire, around the battling duo. None would interfere in this battle between titans, but it mattered not to the embroiled duo as they both turned to magic. The bolts of fire and ice canceled each other out, but proved to be more than sufficient to blast both of them apart and backwards.

They rose back to their feet, Lord Antonidus executing a light hand spring as he dove in with his blade, hacking at his slower moving foe. The thrice blessed blade carved into the demonic armor worn by the Demon Price, but held against the first wave of blows. The second barrage of hacking cuts were sufficient to breach the demonic cuirass that had protected him, as he slashed at the demon's chest, gouging a wound that drew a hiss of pain from the Keeper. Antonidus grinned savagely as he pulled back his blade, mumbling prayers rapidly to enhance the already powerful enchantments upon his weapon, "The cleansing flame!" he roared, bringing the blade down in a powerful overhead cleave, a blinding light driven by faith and purity erupting from the blade of his weapon.

The wings and bone like appendages of the Demon Price folded protectively around himself, before the blade slashed through first his leather and rock like wings, only to bite deep and jam against the skeletal wings beneath. He howled in agony, the purity of the weapon seeming to strike not only at his flesh, but also claw at what remained of his black and corrupted soul. The glowing blade continued to press its advantage, a agonizing millimeter at a time as it destroyed the skeletal, wing like limb. Firestorm swung his head back, smashing it against the stone floor, sending thoughts of the burning pain clear out of his mind, even as his hands reached up through the tangle of his shredded wings and other limbs to grasp the curving white ivory horns upon Antonidus's helm, and giving them a savage twist.

The sound of tearing metal screeched through the air as he ripped off Antonidus's helm, revealing a face, heavily scarred, from years of fighting, long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail that had come loose. Sweat slicked hair swung about his face like whips as he gazed directly in to the eyes of the demon, seconds before the helm he had once worn smashed in to his head. The crack of bone was clearly audible by those who stood close by, and Antonidus's grip slackened and went limp. The Demon Price grabbed him by the throat and threw him overhead. He rose, hissing as he tore the blade from his body, the skeletal wing having been badly mauled, with his wings reduced to shreds by the burning purity of the sword. It burned his palm, but he held the sword firmly and drove it, blade first in the ground. He stepped around the embedded sword as its glow faded. Clearly, it lost its strength and power when it was not in the hands of a champion of the light.

Firestom's eyes promised death as he locked his gaze with that of the Lord Antonidus. He swung once with his Dragon Gunblade, driving as much strength and power into the blow as he could. *The blades rang as they came together and thrummed powerfully, as a notch appeared upon the cutting edge of his gunblade, even as the embedded Azure Wrath Crystal Blade of Lord Antonidus shattered sending a wave of deadly crystalline fragments that impacted and pitted the armor of its former wielder, as he shielded his face and eyes from the deadly hail.

Stalking forward, fire still burning upon the stone ground where he had tread, he loomed up over the fallen Lord of the Land, "Lord Antonidus," he paused, hoisting his foe to his feet, and raising him until his feet dangled nearly two feet off the floor, "I keep my promises," he finished as he sheathed his weapon and smiled, "Your soul will be mine to torment until the end of time."

The man hung in the clawed fist of his opponent, unable to utter a word or sound, but the eyes, the window to the soul, revealed the fear within his heart and mind. The Demon Prince gazed into the eyes and revealed to him what future awaited him in the realm of darkness that would be his prison for eternity, and he barely managed to hold back the scream of agony, "You are stronger than you look, even with fear within you," mused the monstrous Keeper as he threw the man to the floor, "I will be there, soon, to oversee your enslavement!" His armor encrusted foot rose as he stomped down, hard, on to the man's windpipe, crushing it and the vertebrate in his neck, moments before the spiked soles of the armored war boots cut through flesh and decapitated the Lord of the Land, the flesh burning beneath the demonic fires that raged in and through the Keeper, lending the surrounding air with the faint scent of burnt flesh.

The Demon Pricne scooped up the head of Lord Antonidus and roared, his gunblade outstretched overhead, the severed head impaled upon the end of the serrated blade, garnering the attention of every warrior embroiled upon the field of battle. His death was stunning to the warriors of light as they felt within the depths of their soul that their leader had fallen. Some surrendered where others took the cowards escape, taking their own life to evade capture. Those that surrendered were butchered without mercy by the bloodthirsty warriors of the Black Flame. Only two had the courage to meet their end as true warriors, and they died as such, consumed in a volley of deadly spells.

It was with a surprising suddenness that the rip appeared some distance from the Keeper, and the forces of the Black Flame, battle weary and wounded, hastily reformed their ranks around their Keeper, eyeing the suspicious portal that had appeared from nowhere with no reason for it to exist. While the numerous, but still significantly reduced strength of the Black Flame, for the most part could not understand the portal, a few were, the Demon Prince of the Black Flame, amongst them.

"My Keeper," Gazz hesitated, unsure if it was the correct title, "The Dark Gods await you in the void beyond time and space, within the immaterium, and they have judged you worthy of seeing them face to face." Gazz's body bore the marks of hideous combat, rents and furrows having been gouged in his flesh with numerous circular burns where spells had impacted but bounced off his scales.

"So it would seem," where he had been relatively soft spoken, unless angered, now his voice was a deep bass rumble akin to the thunder that rolls before the breaking of the storm, "Rhahimidarigzz, as a true warrior left standing at the end of this battle, I hereby grant you the title of War Master. Rule this land, and those of the Black Flame, until my return. Rule with an iron fist and ensure the loyalty of all who follow my banner."

"It will be done, Keeper," he said, bowing as low as he could, grunting against the pain as he did so, "Your orders are the will of the Black Flame."

"Then let it be so," he paused for a moment, resting a heavily veined, clawed hand, squeezing the Dragon's shoulder, exercising great control to avoid injuring his heavily wounded warrior, "Rule well."

The dragon's face formed the equivalent of a smile, revealing the numerous fangs and teeth, "Die with honor!"

Turning, the Demon Prince of Kharnax, Keeper of the Black Flame, stepped forward, his weapon drawn, but held loosely at his side as stepped towards the void. He stepped into the pitch midnight darkness within the portal and tightened his grip open his weapon, uncertain of what to expect as the darkness engulfed him. He could hear and feel his footsteps upon the ground beneath him. He spun in a circle, as first a single voice spoke to him. Growling, he spun yet again as the same voice seemed to come from behind him yet again. His sharpened eyesight caught movement in the corner of his eyes, yet whenever he turned there was nothing there, either animal or human. Testing the ground, he took a cautious step forward. Then another step, as the land began to take form around him, revealing a bloody, corpse scattered wasteland with mountains of skulls as far as he could see. He stood next to one such tower, and he instinctively knew that this was the tower that marked the number of men, women and children that had fallen under his blade, or those of his minions, and had been sacrificed in the name of the Dark Gods. His ascension made it clear that his particular brand of offerings had earned him more than a solitary "gift" from the Dark God, and he knew that the Dark God Kharnax, God of War and Bloodshed, had selected him as his Champion or Chosen. It meant the same thing. The title itself, a boon from the gods, would rally both numerous more minions and even lesser rival keepers to fight beneath his banner. In spite of all this however, it still did not bring him any close to what he wanted: To go home.

He stalked away from the tower of skulls that rose skyward, dozens of feet in to the air, no telling how many had been sacrificed and used to honor the gods, as he followed the instincts within him, that drew him towards something, or rather some place. No doubt the resting place of Kharnax's throne, supposedly a throne made from skulls drenched in the blood of the slain. Minutes turned to long hours as he trekked across the vast bloody wasteland. The trees and plants, the few that survived in the unforgiving climate, were warped and twisted by the corruption that inhibited the air. Firestorm could feel the chaotic demonic energy within the air, every breath drawing the power to his body, causing his body to bulge, as those whispering voices continued their attempts to seduce him, telling him to surrender fully to the demonic magic in the air, and become a true creature of darkness. He refused to surrender himself, to loose himself, to become an offering to the Dark Gods.

It could have been days, or even months, but he knew that to rest or to stop would be to doom himself to death. How long, he had no idea, but he had slain several creatures that could have once been humans, perhaps Dungeon Keepers. This was the final test before the Dark Gods would grant him an audience. He was not sure if he was simply to survive, or to find something, for his instincts kept telling him to search. He had taken the skulls of three such monsters and faced off against a rival Dungeon Keeper who had unleashed spell after spell at him, the majority of the blasts did little against his armor, although it took him several long minutes to close up against his foe, stab his opponent and slash the man's neck open from ear to ear. There were several other opponents, but he could not be sure how long apart the battles were. It could have been hours or minutes, but he had no way of being sure. Months or even years, he had no idea how long it had been.

Suddenly, he found himself standing at a gate composed of bones, a mixture of both human and animal, created in something akin to a gothic style, except that where there would be points were the skulls, mostly human. It was a warning, but for any who had come this far, there was no turning back. Growling at this sheer ridiculousness of it all, he checked the charges of his weapon and reloaded the spent cartridges; leaving him with a full volley of twelve. Looking around, he caught his last glimpse of the barren valley of fallen shattered bodies before lashing out, breaking apart the gate of bone, and he stalked up the walkway, weapon ready, deadly flames already crackling in his left hand as he stalked towards the massive throne of Kharnax.

The throne itself was as the legends described, composed of the bones and skulls of hundreds, if not thousands, that the Dark God himself had slain long before his ascension from Demon-hood to Godhood. It was massive, but somehow slicked down with blood that continued to flow down from the back of the throne, along the armrests and its massive legs, a gross bloody parody of a waterfall. The raw elemental power emanating from the Dark God rolled outwards in waves that promised fire, death and destruction to all who opposed him. The Demon Prince that the Dark God Kharnax himself had created stood before him, and refused to be cowed, glaring with obsidian hatred filled eyes up at the monstrously larger demon. Firestorm knew that this was the proverbial it, "You summoned me?"

The Dark God glared down at the infinitely smaller figure that glared up at him "Funny. Very funny. I somehow pictured you to be a lot taller," his voice sounded like the harsh winds that swept through the aftermath of a fought battle, "But you have far more courage than one of your stature should possess."

Firestorm growled, his muscles shaking with possible fear, even as he tried to call upon the red rage, the blood frenzy, to bring courage and a battle rage upon him, should he require it, "You. Summoned. Me." It was a statement, "Why?" That was the question.

The Dark God leered down at him, licked its lips. At the end of the tongue, emerged another small mouth, filled with crystalline serrated teeth that hissed for a moment, before disappearing from sight, "Since your arrival, in this world, I have watched you. And your offerings to me made it clear that you sought my blessings upon your crusade."

"I kill because I must, because it drives my warriors forward, I kill out of necessity, not because I choose to. MY weapon hungers for blood constantly, but I do not feed it just because it demands it. MY actions are driven by one reason," roared Firestorm, "I still know who I am! I still know who I was! I know what you have made me!"

Kharnax looked down at the small figure before him and laughed a deep booming laugh that promised nothing but immortal pain, "You think that I created you to help you?"

"You think you can twist me to your purposes?" he snarled, as his grip tightened upon the handle of his weapon.

Now Kharnax roared with laughter, "I do not have to. You have done my work for me. I have sought one, from your world for many decades now, and I did not think that my search would end so easily."

"`From my world?" the pieces of the puzzle began to click in to place, most especially the skulls upon the gate, they were all human, "How many have you taken from my world Kharnax?, and none of them could measure up to your standards? None of them were "worthy" enough to be your Avatar, to corrupt a dimension that you could not cross into?"

"Your intelligence, your cunning are two of the characteristics that your predecessors lacked in droves. You have both. Your prowess in battle is impressive, but the Avatar of the Heroes could still slay you with ease. That particular weakness will be erased as you gain a better grasp of combat. Every battle, every fight has made you stronger. IF you were capable, you would challenge me. And you still can, but you cannot hope to best me. This is my domain, and within it, I make the rules, and you have three options."

Firestorm held his weapon at the ready, the collection of ten blazing orbs of fire resting in a pyramid upon the palm of his left, as Kharnax gestured towards a set of doorways, the first composed of bones, the other, was a portal, clearly the same type that attracted a Dungeon Keeper their minions, "The door upon the left will open passage back to your Dungeon in this realm, where as we speak, your forces are consolidating your most recent gain. Numerous other Keepers are beginning to receive word of your ascension, know for certain that they cannot stand against your forces, and are willing to join your banner. You can crush all resistance in this world and rule in my name for eternity. The portal on the right will grant you that which you desire most: it will return you home, but be warned Demon Prince, you will find nothing there for you."

Firestorm knew that the God, sitting in his massive throne spoke the truth, how he was not sure, but the certainty of his words made it very clear that he had nothing left for him. Kharnax chuckled, an actual sound of merriment that almost made him seem human. The massive figure rose to his feet, taking a single step forward. A single step was enough as it sounded like a pile driver smashing headlong in to the titan gates of heaven, "Behold."

It was as if Kharnax had been keeping his own home video archive upon the events that had taken place while the Keeper of the Black Flame had been "comatose" in his own world. The images and sounds portrayed a world that knew not of his existence, of a family that still visited, but had abandoned all hope of seeing him walk, talk and move again. A girlfriend, he remembered her, long auburn hair, with brown eyes and a beautiful smile, and soft skin that had made her beautiful, his "own little angel," in a different time. She had moved on, leaving him to the darkness without a second thought. Betrayed by all those he had held dear. None of his so-called "friends" had visited. What had been months in this world, had been years, and Kharnax felt it necessary to twist the poison home, "Time passes differently in this world. It has been almost six years since you left your world, where it has only been months here."

There was still humanity within the Demon Price of Kharnax, and it showed as he could feel the emotions within him, welling up; emotions that would make him seem weak in the eyes of the God who now towered close to fifteen feet above his nine foot height. He quashed the emotions with a roar that one could mistake for a battle cry. It was more a cry of anguish and pain as he lashing out with his gunblade and spells, carving through the images that floated before him, even as he spun and lashed out, carving through the ornate statues that lined the walkway that lead up to the throne of Kharnax, while the Dark God watched with undisguised amusement. When his Chosen paused in his furious assault, the blood rage millimeters beneath the surface, he spoke, "You have a third choice, and it was the choice made by those who stood here before you. They chose to face me in single combat, in an attempt to take my place as God. You saw their skulls, and I know that you are no fool."

Firestorm breathed once, and snarled his rage, "You know full well what I desire: Home, revenge, blood, fire and death to all who have betrayed me. I have only to ask whether you will be the Patron to my Dark Crusade."

Kharnax laughed, "What would I gain by being your "patron deity" that I do not already have?"

Firestorm grinned, knowing that this is nothing but semantics now, "Consider how many people inhabit the lands above, perhaps forty million? My home world had over four billion when you took me! Think of the mountainous tower of skulls and the offerings of blood that I can raise in your honor and to your cause. Think of how your power will grow. And you gain, as you desire, that which you want most: A base of power, that once conquered, cannot be taken from you. With such a powerbase secured, your own ascension above the other Gods can be assured."

Kharnax smiled down at his Chosen, "Your cunning and intelligence could well be surpassed by your charisma," the God snapped his fingers, causing a human cranium, polished till it shone to appear upturned at the feet of his Chosen. Kharnax drew a small short blade from its sheath at his waist, and used it to nick one finger, drawing a bead of blood which he let spill in to the upturned skull, "I grant you my blessings."

Firestorm, Demon Prince and Chosen of Kharnax sheathed his blade, before kneeling before the Dark God Kharnax, and took the upturned skull in his hands. He raised it above his head, and saluted his Patron with the skull, before draining the blood within the skull in a single long gulp. His muscles sang in pleasure at the raw demonic power that he absorbed in his demonic form, and he roared in pleasure, "Thy will be done!"

"I grant you the ability to shape shift, to morph between your true, demonic form and your former human shape, and I return to you the memory of your human form. Remember that you serve me, Chosen of Kharnax, Demon Prince Firestorm, Dungeon Keeper of the Black Flame," rumbled the God, a satisfied smile upon its face.

The Prince rose to his feet, staring at the portal that would take him home, pausing a moment as he played with the magic and energy within him, reshaping his body, and appearance. He growled, the only sign that he would give of the pain as his wings and bones retracted into his flesh, while his bones crumbled and reformed to those of a human, skin softening and regaining a more normal and acceptable color. He remained standing through the transformation, for as much as it sent pain racing along his nerves it took only a matter of seconds, "Upon your return to your home world, your demonic essence will allow you to do what you must do, to build an army, to gather strength and to conduct your Dark Crusade."

He nodded to his patron, "I will not fail."

Kharnax nodded with a smile that would make small children scream in fear upon his face, "Indeed Chosen. Failure is not an option."

Demon Prince Firestorm, Keeper of the Black Flame, stood only six feet tall in his human guise, as Cameron Hunter, turned his back upon the God of Warfare and Bloodshed and stepped through the portal. The demonic runes along both sides of the door way flared brightly glowing a mix of blue, red and white, and the Chosen of Kharnax finally returned home.


	24. Chapter 24: My Home World

**Chapter 24:**

**My Home World is About to Die.**

I guess I was wrong when I wrote that the first chapter in my saga was actually the final chapter in my saga of blood, fire, untold chaos and insurmountable carnage. This is the final chapter. These are my final words, for those of you who have not realized it, the internet has proven its undeniable worth. I am home, I am awake, and because I have a human form, I could write my saga, for all of you out there, to read and see, perhaps even taste, feel and smell the carnage that I wrought with my empire in that alternate world. I have been back for many years now, after my prolonged nap in the Comatose Ward of the Prince of Wales Hospital. I look human, I sound human and everything I do is human… except for the slowly mounting desire to kill, to take the revenge upon all those who abandoned me, and left me for dead, long forgotten.

I have had some contact with my empire in that alternate universe. The Black Flame continues its drive and was making headway, albeit slowly. But the power and influence of the Black Flame grows steadily. Rahimidarigazz has adopted the approach that the slow way, is the safe way. Instead of the original four or so lands, we now controlled seven of them, and in every province, the loyalty of every warrior and even the subservient humans is absolute to my cause.

I write this as the true final chapter in my story, for there is nothing but blood, fire and death left to come. I admit that the perspective is not always clear, that I shifted between prose and tenses, throughout. But the whole story is an amalgamation of my thoughts, my actions, of what I did, and what I saw and what I ordered done in my name, for the Black Flame and for the Dark God Kharnax. And funnily enough, Kharnax never lied to me, as I awoke alone in that hospital ward, and stayed alone for nearly week. My parents only came long after I had been awake for that long lonely week and they had no reasons or pathetic justifications or excuses for why it took so long to come to meet me. The unspoken reason I met upon my return to an apartment, no longer in Tai Wai, but in Fo Tan. I suddenly had a younger brother, who knew nothing about me at all. It triggered a lot of pent up rage and hostility as I nearly killed the five year old bastard. The woman whom I had loved had moved on and as comedic as it sounds, she had moved on with her life, falling for another woman – one of the nurses who "cared" for my broken form. My so-called friends who I had thought I could count on, did not recognize me, nor care once they learned that I had returned. All that stuff about "Bros before Hoes," was nothing more than hyperbole. I had nothing left in this world of any value, whether sentimental or emotional or monetary. I want this planet cleansed, and I will take a great delight in honoring my covenant with Kharnax. I tried to save my humanity and succeeded in saving a part of it… but I don't know why I bothered.

Six years I was gone, and I have made up for lost time. I returned at the end of 2002, if you want to be picky, on January 1st, 2003. In the six years that I have been back, I have established the necessary base of power throughout numerous different regions of Hong Kong. I need but give the signal, and the warriors I have collected, trained and hardened, will rise up. This city will fall to me first and then, who knows where I will strike next. There are almost ten million people in this city now, and almost a third of them are actually warriors of Kharnax, my legions of blood-thirsty followers who hunger for blood, to unleash their violent tendencies upon all who stand in our way.

It's a different kind of war that we fight here, but my powers are undiminished, and I have taught many, who have taught many more, and it goes on and on and on. All of my warriors can control the magic, the mana that is latent, however limited it may be, in my home world and use it. Many more are trained with firearms and explosives and the other tools of "modern day" warfare. Indoctrinated, almost brainwashed in some cases, my army knows that death is not the end in this world, for their death in battle will mean that they are honored as the first to fall in the service of our Patron Kharnax, and should they live, they will be blessed, as I have been blessed with powers and abilities beyond the dreams of many a mere mortal.

Hand to hand combat is not necessarily something that will happen much but my Dragon Gunblade is still with me, a blood stained weapon that has sent hundreds of offerings to Kharnax, and its burgundy blade hungers for more blood, for the souls of those it slays to feed it. I will take on my true demonic form when the war begins for the souls of this world, and none who stand against the legions at my command shall live. These are my final words, and my warriors have been awaiting them for far too long. Many of them feel the bloodlust within themselves. This is our Call to Arms!

Gather your weapons and strike down these mortals. We shall not judge them, for judgment has been passed upon these men, women and children, who shall all be offerings to Kharnax!

Unfurl my banners that carry the Black and Gold of the Black Flame and don your armor of demonic faith. Your weapons stand ready and we shall break the sword and shatter the shields of these men who will try to defend themselves against us, even as their blood stains the earth red, and fire consumes the defiant!

None shall stand before our god, the true God of Chaos, and death will come to all who oppose us and the all powerful might and will of Kharnax.

Fresh meat for His table! Blood for His chalice!

Rise up my warriors and cleanse this world of those who do not share our faith!

Slaughter these people in his name!

And if you are not of my army, and you have read these words it is time, for you to flee, for my army comes for your flesh, your blood, your soul and your skull. You're still sitting there and reading? I'll give you one last piece of advice that may save you for the moment: Run you damn fool of a reader.

Run.


End file.
